Chapter 7

Rural Oxfordshire. July, the same year.

“Good morning Tony, you well?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Let’s get moving then.”

Sir Michael Neve climbed into the passenger seat of the estate Land Rover, and the two men, landowner and estate manager, set off on their regular morning inspection of the large multi-use estate.

“Start with the woodlands at the north today sir, there’s something you need to see.”

“Oh?”

“I thought I saw something yesterday evening on my way home, but it was late and getting dark so I wasn’t sure. I came out again first light to have a look. I think you’d better see.”

“Oh hell’s bells. Not more travellers?”

“Er, no sir, nor poachers.”

The estate had regularly had travellers camp illegally on parts of the land. It wasn’t the camping that bothered Sir Michael; it was the damage and destruction they caused. The mess they left behind.

Tony Goodwin’s views on travellers were less charitable and Sir Michael knew this, so his estate manager’s reaction puzzled him slightly. Tony seemed at once both more and less concerned than his more usual reaction to travellers, gypsies or poachers.

“I’ve seen less travellers around in the last few months,” Sir Michael mused to himself.

“Good riddance too,” muttered Tony.

The Land Rover bounced around a bend in the track and over a small rise before descending towards the edge of the mixed woodland. There was a small area of hard standing about thirty yards from the edge of the wood, where Tony brought the car to a halt.

Sir Michael climbed out and reached for his shotgun, but when he saw that Tony hadn’t bothered with his, Sir Michael left it behind. The two men tramped into the edge of the wood, where Tony brought them to a halt.

It was a typical British July morning, blue sky, sunny and warm, but with lots of intermittent cloud cover and a breeze that couldn’t decide whether to be warm or chilly. They were far enough from any human habitation that the only noises were natural. Sir Michael looked around the small glade with pride. To the untutored eye it appeared wild and rambling, but the woodland was a typical mixed deciduous wood that had been maintained with care. The huge oaks, beeches, sycamores and other large trees were interspersed with the smaller yew, ash, silver birch and others. Lower down were various ferns and brackens, with brambles, ivy and some wild clematis trailing about. Wild flowers: blue bells, hare bells, snow drops, wild orchids and others all found space to grow, along with various mosses and fungi, some very rare. A few carefully placed rotting tree trunks provided living quarters for insects, lizards and grass snakes; with hedgehogs, rabbits, foxes, red and grey squirrels and badgers all living in the wood, along with other smaller animals, invertebrates and birds. The whole woodland was a veritable wildlife paradise that had recently gained an SSSI status: Site of Special Scientific Interest.

Sir Michael rarely had to do much here now; his late parents had started the project before he himself was born, and when he took over the estate he had continued the project. His youngest daughter, who was now starting to take over some of the running of the estate, had already stated her intention to maintain the woodland and to keep it going. The last time any of them had had to intervene was about two years previously when a small pack of feral dogs had made a home here. They had watched and monitored for a few days before eventually making their way into the woodland to hunt down the dogs.

Four dogs were shot fairly quickly, three of which had been chipped at some point in the past, so these had, at one time, been family pets. None of them cared: the dogs had probably been abandoned, and while it wasn’t the dogs’ fault, they had ended up in the wrong place and were not wanted. Eventually a bitch had been found, along with a litter of six puppies. The bitch, also chipped, and two of the pups had had to be destroyed, but the other four pups had been taken, two handed over to the RSPCA, the other two to become estate dogs.

Since that time the woodland had been essentially undisturbed, and for a few moments the two men just stood and looked, admiring what nature had produced.

“Okay,” Sir Michael eventually murmured. “What is it you need to show me.”

“This way sir.”

Tony led his boss along some small animal trails until they reached a small spring, where a tiny stream bubbled up from the ground. It was little more than a trickle and damp ground at this time of year, but even during the wettest of winters the stream was never more than a couple of inches deep. He paused and pointed.

It took Sir Michael a few seconds to see what Tony was pointing at. It was a low, well camouflaged, wooden hide. “What the hell?” he exclaimed. He strode forwards but Tony gripped his arm tight before Sir Michael had taken more than a single pace.

“Wait.”

“What?”

“Look.” Tony pointed. “There are traps and snares. For us, not for animals.”

“Warning devices or actual traps?”

“Warning. I think. I’ve not gone closer than this. I can see three, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t others.”

“How on earth did you find this? This is well hidden from the wood’s edge, there’s no way you could have seen this yesterday evening?”

“I didn’t. I thought I saw a couple of men moving. But they weren’t moving like travellers. More like poachers. But there’s very little in the woods a poacher might want. Only rabbits really.”

“Have the muntjac moved on then?”

“Yes sir, a few weeks ago. Well. That’s what I assumed. But I’m now wondering whether they’ve been taken. There were only three of them.”

Sir Michael nodded. “That was good spotting. How did you find it?”

“There are only about five real clearings in the wood, this was the third one I checked.”

“You’ve checked all the others?”

“Yes sir, all clear.”

Sir Michael nodded, but said nothing.

“I checked the brocks first, just in case the local farmers had taken it into their heads to drive them out.” There was much antipathy amongst the local cattle farmers to Sir Michael allowing a badger sett to exist on his land, despite the fact that there had been no cases of bovine TB within fifteen miles of the wood for a very long time.

Sir Michael again just nodded, examining the low wooden structure. “That’s a very low building. Seems rather pointless. Especially to then set traps and alarms around.”

“Yes sir, but I think it’s been dug into the ground. Just round to the left there appears to be a slight depression and there’s a doorway of some sort.”

“Even so, I can’t see how it could hold more than half a dozen people, and they would be very ‘cosy’ in there.”

“Yes sir. I don’t know. What do you want me to do about it?”

“Recommendations?”

“I’d like to stay out here and hide. Try and catch whoever created it.”

“Uh huh.” Sir Michael frowned in thought. “It must be a good six weeks since I was last here. Millie hasn’t been here in at least that long.” Millie was his youngest daughter.

“I had to look it up in the diary before I came to pick you up. It’s five weeks since I was last here.”

“So that thing is less than five weeks old,” mused Sir Michael. “It looks older.”

It was Tony’s turn to nod without saying anything.

For a few more minutes they continued to look and watch, before Tony turned and the two made their way carefully from the wood. Once back at the Land Rover, they paused.

“I want that gone. I want whoever built it caught, and if possible prosecuted. That’s protected woodland, if we need to we can probably get help and assistance from the appropriate authorities and bodies.”

“That hide was very well made, camouflaged and protected, if I hadn’t been looking for something I would probably not have seen it. And it appears to have some sort of protection. I think before we do anything rash, we need to find out who put it there, and what they are about.”

Sir Michael paused, then nodded. “Agreed.” He frowned. “How did you spot it? And the traps? As you say it was very well hidden?”

Tony paused then blushed slightly. “I’ve built them myself in the past. I sort of recognised it.”

Sir Michael turned to look at him in surprise. “You have?”

“Yes sir.” Tony said nothing more, but Sir Michael was not to be put off.

“When? Where? Why? How did you recognise it?”

Tony’s pause was longer this time. “Because it wouldn’t surprise me if the person, or people, who trained them, also trained me.”

Sir Michael’s eyebrows raised in astonishment. “Trained?”

“I was in the army.”

“So was I, but no regiment...” Sir Michael paused, and slowly his expression changed to one of understanding. “Ah. I think I see. Not just any regiment. The Regiment.”

“Yes sir.”

“You were in the Special Air Service”?

“No sir. The Parachute Regiment.” He paused a moment. “I joined the Paras when I was seventeen and was a Colour Sergeant by the time I left.” He paused in thought. “I never joined the SAS, merely did some advanced training with them prior to a joint deployment to Iraq. About that time I discovered I was breaking bones rather too easily, and I’ve now broken most of the bones in my body at one time or another. At first they assumed I was being careless, then stupid, and one doc even told me I was doing it deliberately. Then when I went on holiday to Northern California I broke the radius, the thinner bone in my left forearm. They discovered I had osteoporosis. When I got back the army retested me, and I was discharged on medical grounds. It was potentially too dangerous for me and the people around me if something happened to me in the field.”

Sir Michael grimaced in sympathy, but just nodded. “It’s very unusual. That’s usually a woman’s disease, and only later on in life. My mother had it and my older sister has just been diagnosed. It must have really startled the docs to find a young man with it.”

Tony gave a soft laugh. “It startled me, never mind them.”

“It’s treatable of course.”

“Yes sir. Mostly with calcium pills, even now I have to drink lots of milk. But that’s okay, I love ice cold milk.”

Sir Michael gave a soft laugh, then turned serious again. “So you think the person, or people, who built that hide may have been SAS?”

“Or trained by them, yes, it’s possible. I’ve been hearing odd rumours for a few weeks now. There are rumours the SAS is to be disbanded.”

“Disbanded?” Sir Michael looked astonished. “For heaven’s sake why?”

Tony shrugged. “Don’t ask me why, but Thorn appears to have some sort of hatred towards the military.”

Sir Michael nodded slowly. “Yeah, my own regiment is now down to a single battalion. And according to colleagues, they are pretty certain they are going to be forced to lose one company.” He paused. “But that doesn’t explain that hide in there.”

“No sir. It’s why I want to go looking tonight, see if I can spot someone using it.”

“In that case carry on, but keep me informed.”

“Yes sir. Sir, with respect, with whom did you serve?”

Sir Michael smiled slightly. “I was a Major in the Second Battalion The Anglian Regiment. I was serving in Afghanistan and got a serious flesh wound that invalided me back to Britain just before we pulled out. By the time I was fit for service again, the British involvement was over, and I was made redundant a few months later in one of the regular rounds of spending cuts. By then my father was already seriously ill, so I came back here and took over.” He paused for a moment. “It should have been my older brother, but he died of acute alcohol poisoning when he went on a bender for his 21st.”

Tony just nodded without saying anything. Although the two men had worked together for eight years now, they had spoken little about their respective pasts. The two men got back into the Land Rover to continue their inspection.

About an hour and a half later they had finished their inspection, and were back at the main house. As they entered through the kitchen door both were assailed by the smell of cooking bacon. Sir Michael smiled. “Millie’s here,” he said joyfully.

Twenty-three year old Millicent Neve was as small as her father was large, taking after her mother in build, but her father in drive and love for the estate. She looked up as the two men entered. “Saw you coming. Ready for breakfast?”

Sir Michael enveloped his daughter in a bear hug, which Millie returned before pushing him away. “Fwar,” she exclaimed, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “You stink. Have you been smoking that horrible pipe again?”

Sir Michael just smiled indulgently. “When did you get in love?”

“Just as you were leaving on your inspection. I nearly followed you but I could hear Grip and Fang barking.” Millie was a lover of Lord of The Rings; the books, not the films, and she had named the two puppies that had been recovered after two of Farmer Maggot’s three dogs. They always had been more her dogs than his.

“Oops sorry,” her father said, a slightly embarrassed look on his face. “I forgot.”

“Hmm. Then it’s just as well I got here when I did.”

Sir Michael smiled and looked at his watch. “You must have had an early start then?”

Millie shook her head. “Not really. Came to Oxford yesterday afternoon after work. I met up with Gemma and then stayed the night with her in the village.” Gemma was one of Millie’s closest friends. “She dropped me off on her way into work.”

She turned to Tony. “Good morning Mister Goodwin.”

“Good morning Miss Millicent. Thank you for breakfast. That would be lovely.”

“Wash your hands, both of you.” She turned back to the stove.

“How long are you staying?” asked Sir Michael once the three had sat down with large plates full of sausage, bacon, black pudding, mushrooms, tomatoes and fried egg, accompanied by toast and butter. All washed down with large mugs of hot tea.

“Dunno. Was hoping I could stay here. For a couple of weeks at least.”

“Of course you can. Any particular reason?”

“I don’t like what Mummy and Stan are doing.”

“Oh?”

“Stan has joined some new political party called Truth and Freedom, but it’s very strange. They have some very strange ideas.”

“I’ve heard of them,” Sir Michael said dryly. “What sort of ideas?”

Millie made a face. “I can’t tell whether it’s what the party is saying or whether it’s just Stan shooting his mouth off, so I’m not one hundred percent sure.”

“Huh. Is he dragging your mother into it?”

“I think so. She doesn’t seem too happy with it, but she’s also not fighting it.”

“Hmm. Well. That’s her problem. Far more importantly though, is he trying to get you involved?”

She nodded, her mouth full of breakfast. After a few moments she managed to speak. “He seems to think anyone not a member should be classed as a traitor, and doesn’t brook any opposition thought. I’ve never truly disliked him, but I really don’t like what he’s become. Quite what Mummy ever saw in him completely escapes me.”

“Well if they are what I think they are, you need to steer well clear of them. You come and stay here for as long as you need.”

“I do need to be in London though. I still have a job there. It’s not a particularly fabulous job, but I can’t afford to lose it.”

“It’s not easily commutable into London from here. I suppose you could catch the early train out of Oxford, but it’s a bit of a trek into Oxford. You really should get your driving licence you know.”

Millie grinned. “I do drive the estate’s Land Rover. I can leave it by the back gate, cycle from there into the village and catch the bus into Oxford.”

“But then I’ve got to walk down to fetch it. That’s the best part of an hour’s walk.”

Millie looked surprised. “What happened to the trail bike? Use that, then throw it in the back.”

“It’s gone miss,” Tony told her. “The engine gave out quite spectacularly, and we don’t have the money to repair or replace.”

“Oh! Oh, sorry, I didn’t know.” Millie frowned for a moment then just shrugged. “Oh well, I’ll just have to cycle from here then.”

Sir Michael nodded. “Oh. By the way, while you’re here, don’t go near the north wood.”

“Oh?”

“Just for a day or two I hope. Tony’ll fill you in if necessary, but for now just stay clear.”

“Tony?” Millie looked at the estate manager.

Tony shook his head. “Not yet miss, I’ll try and let you know tomorrow.”

The two men deliberately turned the conversation to the rest of the estate, despite Millie’s attempts to prevent it and find out more.

Breakfast over, Tony left quickly, to Millie’s disappointment, and her father refused to say any more beyond another admonishment not to go into the wood for the moment. “It’ll probably be okay, or at least sorted out, within a day or two.”

Tony got to the wood a good hour earlier than he had the previous evening. He crept slowly through the wood until he reached the small clearing. Crouching down, he watched and listened for over ten minutes before moving to a large oak. Satisfied there was no-one around, he began to climb. It took him another fifteen minutes to get to a position he felt was both secure from falling and hidden from view. He pulled on some black leather gloves, and rolled a black balaclava down over his face, adjusted himself to get as comfortable as he could, then settled down to wait.

It was thirty minutes before anything happened. Then he heard rather than saw.

“Someone’s bin ‘ere,” he heard a soft whispered voice.

“‘Ow many,” came a second whisper.

“Hard to tell. Mebbe two, mebbe three.”

“When?”

“Dunno. Too dark to see clear enough.”

“Have the trips gone?”

“One has, don’t think any of the others have.”

“Okay, scout around.”

Tony grimaced. Damn. He’d missed a trip wire.

Seven or eight minutes later he heard the whispers again. “Just the one boss.”

There was another short silence, then: “Okay. Call the others, let’s get inside.”

Tony watched carefully, as five people crept through the clearing and down into the bunker. Two of them were obviously far more highly skilled than the others, but all five showed signs of at least limited military training. None of them appeared to have weapons though, and once inside, he could hear nothing. He considered. Should he make his way down and introduce himself? Should he wait until they were out again before confronting them, or should he let them go and investigate later? Having watched them all go in, he was fairly confident he could avoid all the traps.

He decided to wait.

It was just starting to get light again when he heard them leave. He looked down to see the door to the hut open, and one after the other, the five men drifted out and away. He watched carefully to see where they stepped, and then waited. After half an hour he shinned down the tree again, keeping as quiet as possible. He crouched down to wait and listen, looking carefully. Seeing nothing he stood, and then nearly died in fright as an arm went around his neck pinning him. He felt a pressure just under his ribs.

“That’s a knife see. I just knew we’d bin spotted. Oo are you? And how’d you find us?”

“Whoever I am, I have a legal right to be here, you don’t,” Tony said, managing to sound far calmer than he felt.

“Oh yeah, what makes you think that then? You work for His Lordship?”

“Yes.”

There was silence, and Tony knew he’d surprised his assailant. “Why are you here?” he continued after a few moments. “This is private land, and that includes the wood. I have legal authority to throw you off, and to have you prosecuted for both trespass and criminal damage.”

“We both know you can’t be prosecuted for just trespass, so don’t try ‘n’ be clever,” the unknown attacker snarled.

“So who are you, and why are you here?”

“Oo we are, an’ why we’re ‘ere is none o’ your business. Now are you gonna flip off before I do sommat you’re not gonna like?”

Tony was startled. He’d heard that phrase before, and he was pretty certain he knew where. Thinking back, trying to remember, it came to him fairly quickly, and only another couple of seconds for a name to surface.

“Lance-Corporal Steven Coates.”

Tony’s assailant froze, the arm around his neck getting tighter, and for a second Tony thought he might have made a big mistake. “Oo the flip?” came a breathed reply. Tony was pushed roughly away.

He turned to see the man he’d expected to see. Older, wild eyed, but in generally better condition than he’d expected. “Well I didn’t expect to see you here Lance. What are you doing, and why?”

“Well flip me backwards,” came the awed reply. “‘Ow d’you work out it were me?”

“You are the only person I know who uses the word ‘flip’ the way other people use the word ‘fuck’. It took me a second or two. That’s another nightmare come true.”

Steven Coates still looked stunned. “But, but, why are you ‘ere?”

“I work here. And I’m still asking the questions Lance-Corporal Coates.”

“It’s Corporal, not Lance-Corporal.”

Tony nodded acknowledgment. “Corporal. You still haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here and why?”

Coates pulled himself up to his full height, taller by nearly four inches than Tony, and relaxed into something distantly approximating standing to attention. “I were helping to train some local NEDs. Keep ‘em out o’ the hands o’ the TaF.”

“NEDs? TaF?” asked Tony frowning slightly.

“NEDs is Non Educated Delinquents. TaF is Truth And Freedom. It’s some new organisation that’s tekkin in all sorts and turning out something nasty.”

Tony nodded but said nothing.

“We reckons these kids’ll be better off wiv us than wiv the TaF.”

“And what are you training them to do?”

Coates looked surprised. “Oo d’you fink? We’re gettin’ ready to fight the TaF if we ‘ave to, and them aliens that’re supposed to be ‘eadin’ our way.”

“Who’s we?” asked Tony slowly.

“Me an’ another lad you prolly don’t know. ‘E were still only a private when they made us redundant. Name o’ Holt.”

Tony nodded slowly. If this Holt had taken up with Coates so easily, he would probably have become another trouble maker. If he wasn’t already. Tony sighed slightly. “How many of you are there?”

“Fourteen all told.”

Tony frowned. “And you can all fit in there?” he asked, nodding towards the camouflaged hide.

Coates shook his head. “Eight if we don’t move around. Six really. Less is better. It’s bigger ‘n it looks.”

“It would have to be,” Tony noted dryly. “But you can’t stay here.”

“Why? It’s perfect. This is just derelict woodland.”

Tony laughed. “This woodland has been carefully managed for nearly seventy years.”

“Managed!” exclaimed Coates. “There’s rotting logs over there. How’s that managed?”

“Those logs have been carefully placed to allow insects and other invertebrates to find a home. This wood is now a Site of Special Scientific Interest because of the fauna and flora that lives here. It’s not for logging or coppicing. Nor is it for tourism. It’s maintained solely for the wildlife, the plants and animals. There’s a healthy brock, er, badger sett here; the only red squirrel colony in nearly eighty miles, some very rare orchids and fungi, and there’s a greater variety of birds and insects living here than anywhere else in the ten or fifteen miles around.”

Tony shook his head. “We’ll lose that status if you stay here, or you’ll be discovered by the scientists themselves. How long have you been here?”

Coates had to think about that one. “Near on six weeks I think,” he answered slowly.

Tony nodded slowly. Five weeks, six weeks, it was close enough. He suspected that the two had missed each other by hours at most. “There’s three other woodland areas on the estate you could use instead of this one, though only one would be truly suitable. That one really is unmanaged. We just haven’t found the time. It’s rather overgrown with brambles and wild clematis, and the trees themselves are not in as good a condition, nor is there any where near such a wide variety of either fauna or flora. If you were to move there, and carefully dismantle this place, I think you would be better off.”

Coates looked irritated. “We’ll just scare the scientists off.”

“That’ll just bring in the authorities. You’re trying to conceal yourself from them. No. You must move. And quickly.”

“Flip!” ground out Coates. “Flip flipping FLIP!” He flung his knife into the ground in frustration, where it stuck, blade down, quivering from the force of the throw. “Where is this other wood then?”

“Almost the other end of the estate. It’s got a high wall along the outside edge.”

“Huh. I think I know the one. We looked at it because of the wall, but it were too awkward to get into.”

“Hmm. Well, I can have a look...” he paused. “I wonder,” he mused.

“What?” asked Coates.

“Look Steve. I can call you Steve?”

Coates nodded. “Better ‘n Corporal.”

“Steve. Let me make some discreet enquiries. I have a feeling that Sir Michael is not well disposed towards this Truth And Freedom, so it’s just faintly possible that he may permit you to use the estate. You’d still have to be discreet, but it would be easier. In any case, no matter what, you’ll need to dismantle that hide.”

“Bastards,” grumbled Coates, but without much heat. “Oh flip. I’ll disable the traps and trip wires, an’ then you can give me a hand shifting a few bits and bobs. Don’t need these flippin’ scientists findin’ my stuff.” He reached down and plucked his knife from the ground, cleaning it carefully before putting it back in a belt sheath.

It took Steve just ten minutes to completely dismantle the system of trips and alarms, showing Tony that there were at least two he hadn’t spotted. After that Steve invited Tony into the hide. It was a little bigger than it looked, but it was also quite basic. A couple of logs had been put down for seating, and a rough wooden board was propped against one wall. Someone, Tony guessed Steve, had been lecturing to the others. He hid a smile at the thought of Steve lecturing. Maybe his promotion to corporal had calmed him down.

There were just a few props: one ancient revolver that Tony instantly saw would be dangerous to put ammunition into, an automatic pistol with an empty clip, and a shotgun. Plus a small pile of books and papers. Tony wasn’t surprised to also see a small gas stove, kettle and half a dozen mugs, along with some teabags, instant coffee, and sugar all in a cardboard box.

Steve dumped the box into Tony’s arms, then began piling as much of the paperwork into it as would fit. The firearms went into Steve’s pockets, or slung over his shoulder, while he carried another pile of papers. “I’ll have to come back for the rest,” he grumbled. “Can’t carry them all.”

“Are you parked somewhere?”

“‘Bout a mile an’ ‘alf away. Near that old pub.”

Tony looked surprised. “Wouldn’t the old pub have been better for this? It’s been abandoned for nearly two years now.”

Steve shook his head. “Nah, there’s building work goin’ on there now. Think it’s bein’ turned into a ‘ouse.”

“Oh. That must be fairly recent. How did you know about this place? I didn’t know you were from around here?”

“Oh aye. Were born a few mile from ‘ere.” Steve turned and grinned at Tony. “Know this area like the back o’ me ‘and. Course, din’t know that this flippin’ wood was sommat special. But you’re not from ‘round ‘ere.”

Tony shook his head, still concentrating on not tripping while carrying the heavy box. It occurred to him that he was defenceless if Steve tried anything, but on the other hand Steve was in front, so Tony wasn’t really expecting trouble. “From the Wirral. Just across the Mersey from the Liver Building.”

“So ‘ow come you got this crack?”

Tony shrugged. “After I left the army I took a few odd jobs around doing basic painting and decorating and bits of gardening, but then someone I was working for put me in touch with her son who was a head gardener at Kew Gardens in London. Spent three years there working my way up, and getting a load of training at the same time. I’m not a horticulturist, nor a landscape gardener, but I do know the basics. I bumped into Sir Michael at Kew when he was looking for an assistant estate manager, and been here for the last eight years.”

“So you’re only assistant manager?”

Tony shook his head. “There’s never been anyone over me, except Sir Michael. He mentored me for a year, and sent me into the college in Oxford for one day a week to do a business management course, but since then it’s all me.”

“Landed on your feet then.”

“Very much so.”

“What happened to that girl you were dating? Weren’t you engaged or sommat? She still around?”

Tony’s face darkened a touch.

“We were already married. She’s a city girl at heart, and when I moved here she didn’t want to come. We tried having a distance relationship, but that didn’t work. Got divorced about six years ago.”