Across the sea
7 januari – On the North Sea, near Flandern-Wallonien
Elsa looked at the stars above the sea, a beautiful sight. She recognised Orion, the Big Dipper and several other constellations she didn’t recognize. She had been looking at the stars on the cold deck of the small ship she was on for hours now. She wanted to light a cigarette only to find out her package was empty. A wry smile formed on her face, she knew she smoked too much when stressed. She had been quite nervous ever since the moment she saw the small fishingboat that would take her to the Union of Britain. In name the the famed ‘Red Underground’ was a secret line set up by the Union of Britain to help talented and dedicated young people enter the workers paradise. In truth the ‘Red Underground’ just was a shoddy old boat picking up a handful of syndicalist fanatics.
A young man came out of the cabin and lit a cigarette. Elsa recognised him as one of the crew, a Scotsman called McKenna.
“Can I have one”, she said while pointing at his cigarette.
“Sure lass”, was his simple answer while he gave her one. Elsa quickly lit the cigarette, only to start coughing loudly as soon as she inhaled. She knew the Brits where cut off from many traderoutes ever after the revolution, but to make cigarettes of tobacco this bad?
The Scotsman only laughed at her.
“Its an acquired taste, British tobacco these days, miss.”
“
Molenaar”, she replied.
“Molenar?”, Malcolm struggled to pronounce the name.
“No Molenaar, both the o and the a are long sounds”. She laughed at the man’s attempt to pronounce the Dutch name.
“You know what, just call me Elsa.”
“Well then Miss Elsa. I’m Malcolm McKenna, at your service.” he saluted as he spoke, making a horribly serous face, like he was saluting an admiral.
“Well then Miss Elsa, what brings you on deck on this horribly cold night?”
“Seasickness mostly. I’m allright when I can see the horizon.”
“Wished that German in the cabin would take your advise, he just keeps hurling.”
Elsa smiled again, she knew who Malcolm was talking about. A German named Honecker had marched on the ship like he owned the place, untill the ship started moving that was. The image of that arrogant bastard sitting in a corner, sick as a dog, just made her smile. Apparently Malcolm thought the same, as he was smiling from cheek to cheek. She liked the guy.
The silence was broken by the sound of a ship approaching in the distance. Elsa’s smile disappeared, what if they where discovered. Malcolm must have seen her fear:
“Don’t worry miss Elsa, its either just a fisherman returning to port, or the Flemish coastguard.”
“Just the coastguard?!”
“Aye, those guys really hate to be the Germans lapdog. They do nothing more than saving drowning people and pissing off German ships by entering and demanding paperwork. Besides, just half an hour or so before we reach international waters.”
Elsa was relieved to hear that. Being held up at sea and ending up in a German cell was not something she could afford. It would not only ruin her life in the vehemently anti-syndicalist Netherlands, it would also spoil her chance at helping Karel with his newest assignment. Only her (moderate) leftist credentials could buy her a ticket on this road into Britain.
Suddenly a hard blow tore through the silence. An explosion shocked the boat.
“Shite, Germans!”, Malcolm spat out his cigarette, grabbed Elsa’s hand and tried to take her to the cabin. Another shell exploded, the small ship shaked heavily. Elsa lost her balance and fell overboard in the icy cold North sea. Elsa struggled, milled around with her arms, gasped for air. This was her biggest fear, she couldn’t swim!
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8 januari - Pontianak, Borneo. Dutch East Indies.
The town of Pontianak was the opposite of Batavia. Where Batavia was a neatly arranged city, bursting with colonials, Pontianak was a truly Asian city. Dutch colonials, Chinese merchants, Javan workers and even several Dayak indigenous to Borneo all mixed through the city. Yet Karel wasn’t here to see the sights, he was here to find some clues. Colonel Ter Poorten had been very kind to him, despite his attitude. He had told him about troop movements when he wanted information about a possible secret information. He had even told him to stomp around on Borneo. A simple deduction meant he could only look at Pontianak, the only harbour on Borneo in reach of Brunei and Sarawak large enough for a ship to remain reasonably unnoticed.
Karel was visiting the harbour register again, trying to find any evidence of a ship bound for the area in october 1925. He knew that such evidence must exist, the colonial administrators where too precise and bureaucratic to not registrate all shipping in threefold. Also, the harbour was too big to sweep such shipping under the carpet. He had looked through the accounts of september and october 1925 until his eyes hurt and had singled out the last two ships sailing to Brunei days before the capture of the installations: the Dutch tanker
‘Stad Amsterdam’ and the Japanese
‘Kankoumaru’. One of these ships was responsible for the actions. Karel was glad he could leave the stuffy archive for now. He walked towards the small café near the harbour where Costers would be waiting for him. The man hated archives of all kinds, and rightly so.
Karel took in the sights of the harbour. Barrels of oil where loaded unto the manyships laying in the harbours. Burly natives where carrying sacks of spices and other products on their backs. Many men of many different nationalities passed him. He was nearly at the café, where a grim Costers was probably complaining about the quality of the beer. The only thing greater than his hatred for paperwork was his hatred for Dutchmade beer.
Two Chinese-looking men where walking towards him. Karel stepped aside to let them pass, they weren’t looking like the types who would step aside themselves. Suddenly karel felt a sharp pain in his side. He grabbed his side and noticed he was bleeding. He was stabbed! He tried to run into the café, but his legs wouldn’t carry him. He screamed, hoping to that someone would hear him. In the distance he saw the men walking away. His vision was getting blurry now. Before he passed our Karel felt a burly man picking him up.
“Good for nothing Dutchman”, where the last words he heard before passing out.
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So, now both Karel and Elsa are in trouble. What will happen now?