The Righteous Dead

By James Gardner

It is 1946. On a dark night in Kent, a plane lands in a field. It contains a single passenger, tasked with delivering a single message. A message that will have a devastating effect on every man, woman and child in the country.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Gardner
• Release date: Jan 13, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465913203

Book preview

Prologue

Chapter 1

He looked down at his watch and saw the moon reflected sharply in its glass face. He tilted his wrist forward and made the dark black numerals jump into focus. 2:45am, late. Glancing up, the night sky was a dark blue expanse dotted with stars; it was a cold clear night, just as predicted, and he pulled his coat closer to him to protect him from the icy chill that seeped in at his collar.

He stepped forward and walked out of the cover of the trees, the odd stray branch flicking at his shoulders as he pushed his way through the foliage, and looked toward the horizon. Staring intently, studying the blue expanse for movement above the dark silhouettes of the trees on the other side of the field. 2:30 the note said, he should be here, he thought. He puffed his cheeks impatiently, and a plume of steam curled into the air from his mouth. Cold, even though February had been uncommonly warm so far. Last year had been hellish, with a bleak and unforgiving winter; he could stand a single cold night now if the rest of 1946 promised to be better than that. So far it had.

He sensed rather than heard the drone, as if he could feel the sound waves brushing against him, a deep, almost inaccessible rumble that blended into the still night; but not quite. And then he saw it, a small dot appearing in the distance. At last, he thought, he had had enough of waiting around in the middle of the night at someone else's beck and call. It had taken him long enough to drive down from Shipton-under-Wychwood without waiting any longer. He was a leader, not a servant, and he hoped this was worth his time. He took his flashlight out of his pocket, switched it on, and turned it toward the night.

The plane skimmed across the countryside, brushing tree-tops as it went, staying low and out of sight. 1941 had shown how effective radar could be, and having been there the first time around, the pilot had no intention of experiencing it again. Ahead of him, he saw a flash of light that signalled his destination, a single flash and then nothing. He hoped he had seen it right, it would be difficult enough to land the Storch without getting the wrong field. He looked around for any landmarks that would help him to confirm his position, thinking back to the aerial photos he had studied before take-off. He had one chance to get in and out, and his cargo was valuable, valuable enough that if he got it wrong he knew he would be killed on his return. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and pulled back on the throttle, feathering the engine and slowing his speed almost to the point of stalling. He pulled back on the stick as he approached the field, hearing the wheels brush against the top of the trees as he glided over them, then the ground opened up ahead of him and he pushed the nose down. The plane bumped sharply off the ground as it touched down and skittered to a stop. He turned around and looked at his cargo resting in the seat behind him.

It is safe Generalleutnant he said, and opened the door.

The Generalleutnant jumped down from the door of the Storch and walked away from the plane. A single figure stepped from the trees at the edge of the field and walked toward him. They saluted and immediately began to talk, exchanging hurried words. The other man, dressed in a long coat, gesticulated exuberantly as he talked. He recognised him, he was familiar somehow, but he could not recall a name. They continued talking for another few minutes, the pilot shifting uncomfortably in his seat, wanting desperately to be away from this place, before the Generalleutnant handed over a letter. The man took it and slipped it inside his coat. They then saluted again and parted, the Generalleutnant returning to the plan and the man fading away into the trees. The Generalleutnant climbed into the plane and slammed the door shut.

Our job is done, go. He said.

Chapter 2

A mid-life crisis; the act of fighting back against the dawning realisation that this is as good as it's going to get. It starts with a little push at the back of your head, a slight tap that tells you that things aren't quite right. The pressure that says: this is all you are ever going to be, this is the peak, everything from this point is probably going to point down. It's a tap that builds up in an ever-rising crescendo until it's like a jackhammer on the back of your head. And at that moment you can go one of two ways: you can either lie down and take it, or you can fight back.

At the age of 21 I left university, having achieved a minor victory in passing an Economics degree with a third. Technically a pass, although not one I wanted to shout about. Still, I thought it was possible that I could still rise to the heady heights of the business world, raking in the riches and the status symbols on the way. After all, hadn't lots of people started out with very little and achieved a lot?

Unfortunately, that's when I ended up working for local government. It started out as a temping job, one of a string that I went through that summer. Just a day's filing and sorting; the kind of thing that I had done a million times before.

That was 10 years ago. I'm still in the same office. And what's worse is that I don't care.

My name is Bryan. I am having a mid-life crisis.

Chapter 3

I've been fighting all my work life. Fighting against people who take one look at me and count me out.

My mother and father were both teachers: my mother taught mathematics and my father was a scientist. He came from a family of scientists. They taught me that there was nothing greater in life than learning, and that the effort I put in now would be rewarded in the future.

I wish I could say that they were right, but they weren't. And they didn't survive long enough for me to tell them so. When I was sixteen years old I got a call at school telling me that there had been an accident; they were both killed, hit by a driver who careened off the road and then drove away. There was no CCTV back then and they never found him, or her. I spent the rest of my teenage years with my uncle, leaving home as soon as I got the chance.

So I wish I could tell them that they were wrong. That hard work doesn't always pay off, and that there are times when, for all the effort in the world, you can't buy yourself a break. Despite my education, despite six years of turning up early and leaving late, I find myself still pushing paper, a PA to an overbearing and inappropriate boss, at 28 years old.

But I am determined that this will not be it. For me, and for my parents, I will make it.

Beginning

Chapter 4

The sky was grey and it spat rain at Bryan as he stepped off the bus into the cold morning air. Hunching his neck, he pulled up his coat collar against the cold and walked across the road.

Moving slowly towards the front doors of the office, Bryan sighed and readied himself for running the morning gauntlet. Since he had risen sleepily from his bed that morning and dressed in his new suit, the sense of dread had been building. Here he was, at the point of no return. He swiped his badge, opened the doors and stepped inside out of the mild rain.

Hello Bryan, nice weather this morning.

It was Steve, the security guard. Bryan had been having the same conversation with him for the last five years, from the moment that Steve first joined the company. Bryan gritted his teeth.

Yes, not too bad, he said, ignoring the lift and starting up the stairs to his floor, pressing on for fear of another word being said.

Had Steve even looked out of the window since he started this morning? It was grey, dull and irritatingly miserable; very much like him. But, even as the thought passed through his brain, Bryan felt immediately guilty. There were times he could have slapped himself for being so nice, but it was so ingrained into his character he spent most of his life feeling as if he were watching sex on the television with his parents. And his parents weren't the kind of people to watch sex on the TV with. He knew they must have had sex at some point, but it was hard to see quite how they would have got round to it. And actually, he didn't want to see how they would have got round to it; it was a horrible thought.

Get a grip Bryan, he thought, Big day today. This is the day things might change.

He walked to his desk and sat down. Reaching forward, he turned on his computer and then sat back to let it start up. He'd been sitting at this desk for over five years; which probably said more about him than the fact that he'd been in the job for ten. Five years, no promotions and not even a desk move. He knew every mark on the desk and on the beige cloth-covered panels that surrounded it; most of them he had put there himself. There were lists of phone numbers for people who had left years before, a group photo from a work night out, a to-do list which had mainly not been done and various notices. Looking again at the photo, he realised that the majority of those people had left too. Not that he really cared; he didn't have many friends at work and he wasn't working hard to find them either. He did have one though, Chris. He'd call him later and waste a few minutes catching up on the weekend's film marathon.

The computer screen announced that it had started up and he proceeded to log in. His email told him he had no new messages, and his calendar told him that he had one meeting: the meeting. He'd find out whether he had finally been promoted. Probably not, but miracles happen, he thought. Looking at the clock that sat beside his monitor, he saw that he had half an hour before the meeting started; just enough time to make himself a coffee, if he took his time.

The 'Kitchen' consisted of a single kettle, a small fridge, and two jars: one for tea, one for coffee. He'd been to parties where the kitchen had been the liveliest room in the house, but he feared that any attempt to have a party here would be scuppered after the third guest. It was so small that if more than two people turned up at the same time, making a drink could be described as an intimate experience. Bryan usually found it uncomfortable, but today was a new day, and despite his uncertainty, he was going to approach it with confidence.

The only thing that could have knocked his confidence was the entry of Melissa into the kitchen, and, on cue, she walked in moments after he took a mug out of the cupboard.

Bryan and Melissa had a shared history going back two years, although she didn't know it. From the moment she had walked into the office, all flowing brown hair and pencil skirts, Bryan was infatuated. Since then they had been on two holidays, three dirty weekends and had at least a dozen office romances, mostly culminating in the stationery cupboard. Bryan didn't think there was anything wrong with this per se, although he did wonder if he should actually ask her out for real from time to time. The trouble was, when the relationship was going so well, why change it?

He looked at her, and she stared back expectantly. Worried he was staring, he grabbed at the kettle and started to fill it with water.

Do you want a cup of tea? Or coffee? he ventured, waving his cup at her.

No thanks Bryan, I'll make my own. She shook a bottle of spring water at him. And anyway, I wouldn't want you to risk getting your shiny new suit dirty on my behalf.

Actually, he thought, there were many things he would do, the least of which was getting his suit dirty.

I mean, it's such a nice suit that you've bought from Primark.

Bryan stopped. He felt a little uneasy. How did she know it was from Primark? He'd spent at least half an hour choosing one that looked, in his opinion, half-decent while still being on the cheaper side. It was after all, the best that he could afford. Reaching around to his back, his fingers came across a sharp, cardboard-like edge. In fact, it was a sharp cardboard edge. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he knew he'd left the labels on.

Umm, yes, ahh... I think I'll have a drink later.

His cheeks blushed and he could feel heat rising up his face. Why her? Of all the people in the office it had to be her. He looked up in time to see her cover her mouth as she sniggered; backing up quickly he left the kitchen and turned towards his desk.

If Bryan were capable of swearing in public, he would have done so right now. Why couldn't he do anything right? Every time he made an effort he managed to cock it up. Reaching down he grabbed hold of the label and tore it sharply off his trousers. There was a loud tearing sound as the band round the top of the trousers came away from the rest. It hung there limply, and Bryan could feel his trousers sink a notch down his hips. Luckily his belt stopped them going any further. Behind him another round of giggles started up. He stomped purposefully, but not too loudly, towards his desk.

Sitting down, he wished already that the day would end right now.

Bryan spent the next 20 minutes buried in paper, trying not to take any notice of anyone. His phone rang once, but he ignored it, not even taking the time to look at who it was who was phoning him. It wasn't until it rang again that he realised it was 9:40, he was late. Bryan picked up the phone.

Hello?

Bryan, we had a meeting 10 minutes ago, are you joining me or have you got something more important to do?

Bryan could feel himself flush at the cheeks and he felt panic rising in his chest. He cursed himself silently, disappointment settling on his shoulders. It was Brian, his namesake and also his boss.

I'm so sorry. I was concentrating on my work, I just lost track of time. I'll be right with you.

Without waiting for an answer he jumped up from his desk, pushing his chair backward across his cubicle and knocking a pile of papers on to the floor. They fell slowly, fanning out as they went. Bryan could have sworn that it was doing it on purpose, hoping to cover as much floor as possible. He grabbed half-heartedly at a couple of pieces before deciding it was fruitless, and with the sound of paper under his feet he walked away from his desk and toward the office.

As he rounded the corner opposite Brian Simpson's office, he could see the fuzzy silhouette of his boss through the frosted glass window. He had often wondered exactly how long that glass had been there. The only time he'd ever seen anything like it was at his Nan's house, obscuring the view into her downstairs toilet. But that was the council he supposed, slightly quaint, slightly old, and with a faint smell of decay. There the similarities ended; he only wished he loved his job as much as he'd loved his Nan.

He knocked once on the door and opened it.

Brian Simpson looked at him with dark-brown disapproving eyebrows. Their eyes locked for a moment before he signalled to Bryan that he should sit. Bryan shuffled forward and sat in the black cloth-covered chair in front of him. Silence hung in the air between them for a moment.

Thank you for joining me. I appreciate it.

Bryan wriggled uncomfortably on his chair, feeling the draught of air through the tear at the back of his trousers.

I'm really sorry. I'm not usually late for things, I just got caught up in my work.

I know Bryan, I'm sure that's all true. But this is fairly important, don't you think? How long have you worked here?

Ten years, give or take a few months.

Ten years, and what did you do when you joined? You've been here longer than me; you'll have to remind me.

Administration mainly.

Bryan felt uneasy.

So, pretty much the same thing you do now? Is that fair to say? Look, I'm not going to keep you waiting. I think you know that you haven't got the promotion.

And there it was. Bryan's bubble burst with an underwhelming hiss. He had known this would be the case, he had convinced himself that it would be otherwise, but in his heart he knew. Confidence was just a facade that he put up to cover himself from the outside world. He was destined to go nowhere, and, in truth, he no longer cared.

Bryan, this will sound like a cliché, I know, but you're a nice guy. You're steady, you're not difficult to manage, I don't really have any complaints. But, you just aren't ready to take a step up. Take today, you've got a meeting to discuss your future and you end up bogged down in your work. It's like you don't care about this. Your interview was the same. I just didn't believe that you could be authoritative, that you could take control of a situation.

Silence fell again, drawing out mercilessly. Bryan was unable to speak.

Bryan, you need to change the way you work if you want to get into this seat. We may have the same name, but that's where the similarity ends. I'm sorry... but that's just the way it is. Have you got any questions?

Bryan shook his head.

No, it's clear. I'll see what I can do.

He got up and walked to the door, before stopping.

Just one question, who has got the role?

Melissa

Bryan nodded, and walked out of the office.

Chapter 5

Joanna sat quietly at her desk, contemplating her next move. She'd dressed down on purpose, not wanting to attract the wrong sort of attention. Looking in the small mirror that stood beside her computer monitor, she peered at her face, inspecting her green eyes and neat lips. She was happy with the way she looked, which was more than could be said for the majority of her friends, most of whom spent their time talking about which part of their body they would like to change and with whom. Current favourites were Jessica Alba's legs and Eva Longoria's skin. Joanna really couldn't see the point of wishing, it wasn't going to change anything.

She looked again into her own eyes. Yes, happy. It's time.

Getting up from her chair, she walked round her desk and up to the office door, with its black letters: Michael Pettigrew, Chief Executive. She reached up and knocked on the door.

Come in.

She walked into the office, looking as confident as she could and looked Michael Pettigrew in the eye. He was in his mid-fifties and the epitome of the ageing executive. Joanna was sure that if there was a God, he was most definitely having a mischievous day when he came up with this design. From the paunch that rolled lazily over the top of his trousers, to the chin that was starting to descend like a drop of water from his jaw, Michael Pettigrew was imperfect in every way.

Hello Joanna, you're looking very lovely today.

Inside, Joanna sighed.

Hello Mr Pettigrew. I wonder if I might have a couple of moments of your time?

Of course, Joanna, I always have time for you. Pettigrew winked at her and then grinned, causing his chin to grow ever so slightly more bulbous. Joanna vowed to herself to wear a bin bag next time she came to work.