The Train

can't really explain what happened that night. The night Jenkins left. It wasn't a routine meeting, but then none of the meetings were really that routine at all. I suppose I had better fill you in with the details before I continue.

It was at the time that the Russians were still in control of London, before NATO repulsed them. It was a quiet but dangerous six months really, and us, the members of the MI5 were hidden under the various guises of City business men.

Work went on as usual though. Meetings were arranged and the resistance fought on. Our secret weapon was the unbuggable room. This was a misnomer of course, but the effect was the same.

The phenomenon had been discovered shortly before the war. Atomic scientists trying to produce a more efficient Bomb, had ripped the very fabric of time and space. I know this sounds as corny as a piece of fifties Sci-Fi, but the scientists were quite amazed when a shining slit appeared in the air and a patch of moorland became visible. Of course the Russians clamped down on this one as soon as they invaded, but finding no way to put anything larger than a camera lens through the slit, soon left it to the province of their top scientists.

What was not realised at the time was that the phenomenon was more widespread than that one instance. Specifically, there was one in a small storage room in a nearby office block. We soon acquired it as a small company of accountants, which also provided excellent cover for our activities.

I was assigned the firm as my cover, with Jenkins and one other person named Carter. During the day we worked out our sums on old ledgers, made innocent telephone calls through the bugged telephone service (British Telecom had been nationalised along with most of the other large concerns). Occasionally, however, two or all three of us would meet in the storage room and pass through the slit. The room may not have been bugged itself, but we couldn't risk being picked up by the roving helicopters with sensitive listening devices.

It was always dark through that slit. Dark and normally cold. We always stepped through onto the far end of a deserted station platform. The nearest lights we could see were those in a town about a half mile distant. The station itself was dark. Jenkins had suggested visiting the ticket office or even the town sometime but Carter and I had always vetoed this as much to much of a risk. However circumstances changed.

Jenkins, who was always the paranoid sort believed his cover was about to be blown. Carter and I were skeptical of this, but did realise that it might be better to let Jenkins "disappear" for a while. The only place he could go was the slit.

That night only Jenkins and I passed through the slit. Jenkins had a duffel bag with a change of clothes and a small amount of money in various different currencies. The station looked English, but we couldn't be sure. In fact I think Jenkins hoped it wasn't. He really wanted to get out of occupied territory.

We had only been on the platform about two minutes when the most unexpected thing happened. A long train drew silently into the station and stopped beside us. From the amber glow of the light inside, we could see the plush leather seating of an empty first class compartment. Jenkins tried the handle and before I could really stop him, jumped aboard and closed the door. He seemed to think the train was unexpected good luck. Perhaps I did too at the time, but even then I had a sinking feeling that I would never see him again. However I decided not to argue, and waved him goodbye as the train pulled away.

I was still standing there when the end of the train passed the end of the platform and me.

On the end of the last carriage was a draped flag of the unmistakable red, white and black design of the NAZI swastika.

I turned and returned through the slit.

The End