“Sir, there is definitely something unusual going on.” The newly appointed recruit stepped forward and handed his first report to the Senior Intelligence Officer, then took a careful step back so he did not lose eye contact.
“And you say you have double-checked your results against the stats from Cardiff HQ?”
“Yes sir,” he answered with confidence. “There is mounting evidence of an increasing problem with both radio and radar interference in the South Pembroke area. Our first readings back in 2010 were so faint they did not trigger any alarms, but the sergeant-in-charge at the Castlemartin training range has recently advised the interference is very real and he would like it investigated further. In fact, the latest data received from the British Geographical Society has just added to the mystery. They report regular sub-sonic wave tremors, consistent with an unstable source of energy within a similar zone as the reported radio interference.”
The Senior Intelligence Officer leaned slowly back into his black, imitation-leather chair. He rhythmically tapped the fingers of both hands on the edge of his large Beechwood table. A pair of linked computer screens sat facing him. His fingers edged closer to the keyboard. After an intense few moments churning over the latest information he directed his stare directly at the young lad, “So, what action do you suggest?” he asked, giving the recruit a chance to prove himself.
The boyish faced, eighteen-year-old was startled and quite taken back by the Officer’s question. He wondered whether he seriously wanted an answer or was just toying with him. The Officer sat forward and rested his chin on his clasped hands, with his elbows now resting on the table and with eyes closely focussed on his.
“Well?”
“I think … I think I should investigate the phenomena first hand. It may be nothing more than a ‘fart in a bottle’, so until it is established that it is a serious threat to our national security, then there is no reason to press the panic button … yet.” He looked down and away from the officer’s stare. Did I really say ‘fart in a bottle’, he thought to himself, with a reddening of cheeks.
“Great! That’s a good idea. See Monique at the Service Desk on level two and she will equip you for your assignment. This will be a good test of your diligence, son.” The Intelligence Officer looked at his computer screen and then began typing away at the keyboard.
“Thank you sir,” said the recruit as he began to back up towards the closed office door.
“Oh, by the way son, what’s your first name?”
“Andrew, sir.”
“Jolly good.”
Andrew opened the door and as he did so he glanced back to the Officer. He was again busily typing away and had that ‘not to be disturbed’ look. He quietly closed the door behind him and then rushed down the stairs to the second level as instructed, eager to start his very first official assignment. It didn’t take long for Monique to make the initial arrangements. He was to train it up to Pembroke the next day, departing from Bristol’s Temple Meads station at 08.45am, with a change of trains at Swansea. He cheekily arranged to have few hours to spare in Swansea before catching a connecting train up to Pembroke.
#
John Ashcombe had never travelled on a train before, even though he was born and bred in London, where underground trains snake their way under the city mobilising thousands every day. This was going to be a new experience. He was nervously apprehensive about leaving his home and he had every reason to be, having never travelled more than a few miles from his flat in Hackney. But none the less, as the day grew closer, there was more than a little excitement brewing inside him about the journey that lay ahead. A journey that was to take him from the back streets of East London with all its petty crime, poverty and pollution, to a far off distant place that no one he knew had even heard of, let alone been to. But the hardest thing was leaving his mum and step-brothers for the first time in his short, thirteen year life.
His family resided in a 1960’s run-down council flat where he was pretty much left to his own devices. His father apparently never hung around long enough to know he had a son and John often wondered what he was like or where he lived. His mother was usually preoccupied with her own life to worry too much about him. Most evenings she worked down at the local pub as a barmaid, her ideal place to pick up male acquaintances. This was not something John was cool about. He hated it even more when she brought them home, because he knew he would be pushed aside and virtually ignored until the intruder had left.
John was the youngest of the boys, and even though his mother had little time for any of her three boys from various fathers, he always felt he was the closest, so he tried to make every moment count. He was proud when she stuck up for him after he was expelled for the final time from his local school. His antagonistic attitude towards his peers always seemed to end in fights. He proudly boasted that he won most of them, but that wasn’t quite the truth. His small stature at the then age of eleven was not really an excuse as most of his peers were of similar height at the time. The education department in their wisdom sent John to a special school but he continually ran away or just failed to turn up. He was eventually given a last option of home schooling or end up in a youth rehabilitation centre indefinitely. So for the last year he had struggled with home education coordinated by a local government-funded institution. His tutor was a Mr Grainger, who although seemed to be pushing seventy, was very tolerant, and slowly improved John’s reading and writing skills. It was Mr Grainger that encouraged him to take up drawing or sketching in which John showed some aptitude. John was going through some of his best drawings in his mind when he was awoken from his thoughts by his mum shaking his shoulder quite vigorously. The bus had stopped and he quickly took stock of the unfamiliar surroundings.
After a slow crawl across the city through busy traffic, the bus had finally arrived at Praed Street, just across the road from Paddington railway station, a major train terminus for travellers to the west of England. After being roughly grabbed by the arm, John was hauled to the exit door. They clambered out of the bus with a number of other passengers, many of which had backpacks and suitcases. John hung on tightly to his backpack as he had heard that you could not trust this side of town, the ‘Worst End’ he believed it was called, misinterpreting it for the West End as it was commonly known. Entering the station, John immediately gasped in awe at the mind-boggling size of the station. He stared with amazement at the height and length of the glass canopies that towered high above him and the rows of platforms, many filled by sleek, uniformly-coloured trains. He noted some people chatted in small groups whilst others singularly rushed this way and that. The tantalising smell of cooked foods drifted from the fast food outlets. At the base of the escalators was a small group of young schoolgirls about his same age that caught his attention. The girls were huddled around a bronze figure and giggling as they patted its head. It only took one quick word of address from their teacher before they quickly regrouped and headed away up the escalators, leaving behind a lone bronze statue of the children’s storybook character, Paddington Bear, sitting on a suitcase. Reaching into a side pocket of his backpack John retrieved a small notebook. He slid out a pencil that fitted into the spine of the notebook. Turning to the first clean page he quickly sketched a rough outline image of Paddington and his suitcase before he was interrupted.
“Come along John, don’t dilly-dally,” instructed his mother. “Look there’s the Reverend.” John slipped the notebook back into his bag and followed behind his mother. She pushed her way rudely through a small group of people and headed directly towards the ticket gate at platform five. They passed a huge electronic sign board that displayed the train departures to places that John had never even heard of. A loud, digitally recorded female voice suddenly erupted and echoed from every wall of the concourse.
“The next train for South Wales and the West of England will depart from platform five at ten-thirty, first stop Reading.”
“Hello Cynthia,” said Reverend Jones as he greeted John’s mother.
“Fanks for taking John as far as Swansea as there’s no way I could afford to go wiff him, so I’m really in yer debt,” said John’s mum in her usual colloquial cockney accent. “Ee’s not a bad lad really, just got caught up with his stupid drug-dealing bruvver and his mates.”
“That is no problem I can assure,” replied the Reverend politely. As we discussed at the family magistrate’s office last week, I am only too happy to assist. As I will be staying at Swansea as the locum vicar for St James church for the next few months, it is really no imposition. I’m sure a break from London will do the lad a world of good, and probably me too.” He chuckled.
“Fanks Reverend,” said Cynthia unsympathetic. “Must tell ya that John’s aunty, Ruby Spencer, will meet ya at Swansea station and she’ll take ‘im from there. I believe she and her daughter ‘ave’s a nice place in Pembroke.”
“Ah, it’s been a while since I visited that corner of Wales … such a lovely spot … always so green and serene,” said the Reverend with an air of calmness, his head tilted slightly and eyes full of distant memories. He suddenly snapped out of his daydream and for the first time looked at John, and said stiffly, “Alright John, it is nearly the time for us to make a move. We don’t want to miss the train now, do we?”
John’s mum gave John a quick hug and handed him a bag of sweets for the journey. John hadn’t seen such a big bag before and was still marvelling at it as he was led by the firm hand of the Reverend through the platform ticket gate. John turned to wave to his mum, but she was already leaving the station and had her back to him. He valiantly watched for her to turn as he passed by the ticket gate, but then she was gone, lost in the distant crowds. For the first time in his life he felt alone and a little scared, but outwardly he refused to show it. For John, this was the end of one life as he had known it, and the beginning of a very different one, but he never knew that yet.