To The Stars

“That sounds ideally perfect. So tell your people that you are going skiing, starting next Tuesday, for a few days. Don’t mention any addresses or places in particular. Pack a bag and put it in your car.”

“Will I be going to Scotland?”

“No. You will be going even farther away. You are going to descend into that inferno right here in London.”

Ten

Jan had been parked at the appointed spot for over a half an hour, well past the time when he was to have been met. Outside only the yellow gleams of the streetlights could be seen through the swirling snow. The pavements were empty. The dark bulk of Primrose Hill vanished into the darkness beyond the road. The only traffic had been a police car that had driven by earlier, slowed a bit, then speeded up and vanished. Perhaps he was being watched for some reason and his contact would not appear.

Even as he thought this the door opened letting in a blast of frigid air. A heavily bundled man slid into the passenger seat, closing the door quickly behind him.

“You wouldn’t like to say something, would you, gov?” the man said.

“It’s going to get a lot colder before it gets warmer.

“You’re right about that.” Sara had briefed him with the identification phrase. “What else do you know?”

Nothing. I was told to park here, wait for someone, identify myself, and wait for instructions.”

“Right. Or it’s going to be right if you take the instructions and do everything exactly like I say to do it. You’re what you are and I’m a prole and you are going to have to take your orders from me. Can you?”

“I don’t see why not.” Jan inwardly cursed the hesitancy in his voice. This wasn’t easy.

“Do you really mean it? Obey a prole — and one that don’t smell too good?”

Now that he had mentioned it there was a definite stench in the air from his heavy clothes. Long unwashed fabric and body odor mixed with traces of smoke and cooking.

“I mean it,” Jan said, in sudden anger. “I don’t think it is going to be easy but I’ll do my best. And I’ll live with the smell too.”

There was a silence and Jan could see the man’s eyes, barely visible under his cloth cap, examining him closely. He suddenly shot out a gnarled hand.

“Put it there, gov. I think you’re going to be all right.” Jan found his hand clamped in a calloused, hard grip. “I was told to call you John, and John it is. I’m called Fryer since I work in a chipper, so we’ll leave it at that. If you’ll just head east now I’ll call out turnings.”

There was very little traffic about and the tires cut black marks in the freshly fallen snow. They stayed off the main roads and Jan had very little idea of where they were exactly, just northeast of London.

“Almost there,” Fryer said. “Another mile to go, but we can’t drive. Slow now, it’s the second turning on the left.”

“Why can’t we drive?”

“Security barrier. Nothing to be seen of course, you wouldn’t know you were going past it. But circuitry under the road surface would query the transponder in your car and get its identity. Goes in the record. Start people wondering what you’re doing here. Walking over is safer, though a lot colder.”

“I never knew they did anything like that.”

“This is going to be an educational holiday for you, John. Slow — stop. I’ll open that lockup garage and you just edge this vehicle in. It’ll be safe enough here.”

The garage was cold and musty. Jan waited in the darkness while Fryer closed and locked the door, then shuffled by, finding his way with the light from a small flashlight. There was a room beyond, a shed behind the garage, lit by a single unshielded light bulb. Fryer turned on a single-bar electric fire which did little or nothing to relieve the chill of the room.

“Here’s where we make the change, gov,” Fryer said, taking some rough clothes down from a peg on the wall.

“I see you didn’t shave today as told, very wise. And your boots will do, after we scuff them up a bit and rub in some ashes. But off with the rest, from the small clothes out.”

Jan tried not to shiver, but it proved impossible to control. The thick, stained trousers were like ice on his already cold legs. Rough shirt, waistcoat with buttons missing, ragged sweater, even more ragged greatcoat. However once the chill was off of everything it proved warm enough.

“Didn’t know your size so I got this,” Fryer said, holding up a hand-knitted balaclava. “Best thing for this weather anyway. Sorry to say it, but you’ll have to leave behind those fine fur gloves. Not many on the dole have gloves. Just jam your hands into your pockets and you’ll be all right. That’s it, wonderful. Your own mam would never recognize you in the rig. So here we go.

Once they were moving through the dark streets it was not too bad. The wool of the balaclava covered Jan’s mouth and nose, his hands were buried in the deep pockets, his feet warm enough in the old climbing boots he had unearthed in the back of his closet. His mood was good for there was a spirit of adventure in this whole affair.