And the World Changes by A M Kirk (classic books for 12 year olds .TXT) 📕
Excerpt from the book:
The aliens came to Earth for a reason. They want to create a weapon of ultimate power to face the ultimate enemy. A fifteen year old schoolboy has been chosen to be that weapon. But the world is about to change - in ways the aliens could not have suspected.
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- Author: A M Kirk
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Jeep, studying an Ordnance Survey map of the area.
“We’re here,” Logan’s finger jabbed the area indicating the farm, “the train’s there on that curve, see?”
The two men, Henderson and Johns, looked from map to landscape and back to map. They saw.
“The woman and the boy jumped from the train here – “ another jab of the finger, “- and Cameron went with them. I think Cameron’s injured or dead. I want you to find Cameron. If he’s injured, one of you get him out of there, if he’s dead get any identification and get his gun. We don’t want the police finding our weapons.”
“Understood, Logan,” replied Henderson, the taller of the two men.
“However it goes with Cameron, I also want at least one of you to go up this valley here – Auch Glen. I think they’re on the run now, and they’ve headed up that way. There’s no place else for them to go unless the head up the hillsides and I don’t think they’ll try that, the slopes are too steep. Now, this track leads round to Loch Lyon. From there they can make their way to Killin. It’ll take them a day, but they might make it. I don’t want them to make it. They’ve got a half hour start. You should be able to catch them no problem. The orders now are to find them and kill them – simple as that. They’re an important link in the plans for alien invasion and they’ve got to be eliminated. Understood?”
Both men nodded eagerly. This was what they had joined the League for in the first place.
“Right – get to it. I’ll drive round to the other side of Loch Lyon and pick you up from there. That’s your exit point. Don’t come back this way for this place’ll be teeming with police shortly, I’m pretty sure. Here, take the map. Get going.”
He watched as his men picked up their small, light rucksacks. These guys knew the area; they would not let him down; they would not let the League down.
**********
At 11.30, in the Criminal Intelligence Service Headquarters based in the quiet countryside outside Erskine on the south-west fringes of Glasgow, in the office of one of the three Directors of the CIS, the interface on Chief Inspector Chris Roberts’ desk began to display information that aroused his interest. One section of the split screen was constantly updated with data from sources all over the UK. Reports originating from the Central Scotland section had been centring on apparently gas-main-related explosions and one of Roberts’ briefs was the investigation of terrorist activity. Two people, a mother and her son, were being sought in connection with the incidents. More data from the same source was streaming in.
Roberts was more than usually tired this morning, evidenced by the dark half-circles under his eyes. Little Sally, his six-month-old baby daughter, had been up half the night with a sickness bug. His wife Jacqueline’s stamina had lasted until three this morning, at which point Roberts had taken over. Fortunately the baby’s temperature had subsided and visit to the hospital, at the back of his mind as an option, was rendered unnecessary. But a night like that was enough to take the edge off performance at his kind of work. He half wondered if the sickness bug hadn’t been transferred to him, he felt so lousy. But now, as Roberts looked at his terminal viewscreen and read the latest reports, thoughts of fatigue and illness began to recede.
However, apart from two mysterious explosions, the interface screen now revealed that a policeman had been murdered on a train from Fort William on the West Highland Line. The killer – not yet identified - had jumped from the train and been killed himself. It appeared that the killer had been chasing the same two people whose names and faces had cropped up in the explosion reports: Doctor Janette Daniels and her son, Mark.
Chris Roberts never forgot a name. And when metaphorical alarm bells began to sound in his mind it only took him a moment’s thought to recapture the circumstances of his first acquaintance with the name of Janette Daniels.
Roberts had once arrested her husband on suspicion of terrorist involvement. At the time, after investigation, it had turned out that the husband, John, had been no more than a bit of a cranky fool involved in student hot-headedness. Charges had been dropped, eventually. Roberts recalled hearing that a missing person report had been filed for him shortly after that and he finally turned up claiming some alien abduction nonsense.
Strange, though, that the name should crop up again now.
As one of the Directors of the Criminal Intelligence Section, Roberts could mobilise considerable resources. He lost no time in doing so now. Within fifteen minutes a helicopter was ready and waiting for him on the large flat roof of the Headquarters building.
Before boarding, he placed a high-security call to General Aaron Miller, the Museum Military Commanding Officer at Stirling, who seemed to be in flap about this Daniels family’s activities. After a brief conversation, beneficial to both parties, Roberts was seated in the helicopter climbing high over Renfrewshire and turning in a wide sweep to head north over the low Kilpatrick Hills as rapidly as possible.
16 Closing In…
Logan is putting the pedal to the metal. He is hammering back down the road to Tyndrum before he races towards Killin. Other members of the League continue to stand by or are on their way to Loch Lyon already. He has been busy with the G5, mounted now on the dashboard.
Its viewscreen lights up as he takes a sharp bend a little too quickly. But the four-wheel drive holds the road and he relents a little. He recognises the site instantly. It is the Chairman. He listens as the voice tells him of his new instructions. These sound difficult to accomplish, he thinks, but the Chairman has read his thought, it seems, for everything necessary is at hand…
**********
Ten minutes have now elapsed since the two members of the League, Henderson and Johns, set off in pursuit of their targets. They are dressed for the occasion, wearing lightweight trousers and synthetic t-shirts. Their small rucksacks bob without trouble on their backs and the tough trainers on their feet are ideal for this kind of rough track-jogging.
They do no speak much. They have little to say. They had not met until today. The only things that unite them are an unthinking hatred of all things alien, and a complete willingness to do whatever the Chairman, or his representative, tells them.
Train passengers peer through the windows and point at the two running figures as they move towards the bridge of the horseshoe curve. Some speculate that they might be policemen. They are seen to check the other’s lifeless body before moving on, obviously in pursuit of the other two.
There is no ID on Cameron, as Janette had already discovered, but they are concerned that they cannot find the gun. They spend some minutes scouring the sloping, tussocky ground for it, but without success. They reach the same conclusion, that it has been picked up by their targets, and resume their jogging pursuit. They notice the broken mobile phone but fail to pay it any more than a cursory glance. Once out of sight of the gawping passengers they take out their own guns. It is as well to be prepared. It is no good jogging into an ambush.
**********
Janette tripped on another of the infernal tussocks and went sprawling in the damp grass. Anger etched a terrible scowl on her smeared face. The track had come to an abrupt stop a few minutes ago, and they were carrying on over pathless grass. About four hundred metres in front lay the narrow expanse of Loch Lyon, but they could only see a confined section of it for the moment, as they descended by uneven ground from the watershed.
“Up you get, mum,” said Mark, jogging back to help her. “Never say die.”
“I’ll tell you what you can do with your clichés, young man,” replied Janette, getting up and feebly going through the motions of dusting herself down.
“I shouldn’t bother doing that, mum, you’re just spreading the dirt around more evenly,” remarked Mark.
“Shut up shut up shut up! How far do you think we’ve come?” asked Janette.
“About a couple of miles. Maybe three from that wood.”
“Any feelings? Any insights? Any bloody ideas where we’re going?”
“Away from here, mum, if you don’t mind.”
“What is it?”
“I’m pretty sure we’re being followed. Let’s head for the loch and see what happens.”
“Oh God!” muttered Janette as they set off again. “This skirt, these blasted shoes, these goddamned mountains…”
**********
The Jeep skidded to a halt in the little farmyard some kilometres south of the small attractive town of Killin. The farm’s owner had been waiting for him. Logan got out of the Jeep as the burly man approached.
“I’m McGregor,” he said and held out a thick hand for Logan to shake. It engulfed Logan’s. “You’ll be Logan, I take it.” McGregor, a large-faced, loose-limbed man looked like he’d spent most of his forty-odd years out of doors. He regarded the younger newcomer warily as he released the hand-shake.
“That’s right,” replied Logan, returning the appraising look.
“Good. I’ve received the instructions and everything’s taken care of. Well, follow me, then.”
Logan followed the man round the farm buildings to a large open field. In the field sat a helicopter.
“I bought it a couple of years ago. It was the Chairman’s idea. Yes, the Chairman himself! It’s come in pretty handy, too. I hire it out to the tourists at this time of year for trips round Ben Lawers and round and about, you know. And in the winter it comes in handy for the Mountain Rescue from time to time.” As they moved in its direction, McGregor surveyed the chopper with obvious pride. “Aye, he must be a shrewd one, the Chairman, eh?”
“Yes,” replied Logan. The curtness of his tone, and the slightly prolonged eye-contact before turning coolly away was a clear signal to McGregor that here was his superior in the League, and loose chat about the nature of the Chairman would not be taking place.
“Right then,” said McGregor after a momentary hesitation, “let’s get you kitted up and belted in and off we go, eh? The stuff the Chairman asked for is already stashed in the back seat.”
Logan noticed the small red first aid kit, with “Mountain Leader” emblazoned on it. “The stuff’s in there?” he asked and McGregor nodded.
A few minutes later the rotor blades were in furious motion and the Logan saw the ground fall away rapidly beneath him.
**********
A few hundred metres from the sprawling buildings of Auch farm, Roberts ‘ CIS helicopter was powering down in a stretch of flatter land below the track as he boarded the motionless train. Impatient mutters of “At last!” and “Maybe they’ll finally get us on our way,” reached his ears as he sought out the officer in charge of
“We’re here,” Logan’s finger jabbed the area indicating the farm, “the train’s there on that curve, see?”
The two men, Henderson and Johns, looked from map to landscape and back to map. They saw.
“The woman and the boy jumped from the train here – “ another jab of the finger, “- and Cameron went with them. I think Cameron’s injured or dead. I want you to find Cameron. If he’s injured, one of you get him out of there, if he’s dead get any identification and get his gun. We don’t want the police finding our weapons.”
“Understood, Logan,” replied Henderson, the taller of the two men.
“However it goes with Cameron, I also want at least one of you to go up this valley here – Auch Glen. I think they’re on the run now, and they’ve headed up that way. There’s no place else for them to go unless the head up the hillsides and I don’t think they’ll try that, the slopes are too steep. Now, this track leads round to Loch Lyon. From there they can make their way to Killin. It’ll take them a day, but they might make it. I don’t want them to make it. They’ve got a half hour start. You should be able to catch them no problem. The orders now are to find them and kill them – simple as that. They’re an important link in the plans for alien invasion and they’ve got to be eliminated. Understood?”
Both men nodded eagerly. This was what they had joined the League for in the first place.
“Right – get to it. I’ll drive round to the other side of Loch Lyon and pick you up from there. That’s your exit point. Don’t come back this way for this place’ll be teeming with police shortly, I’m pretty sure. Here, take the map. Get going.”
He watched as his men picked up their small, light rucksacks. These guys knew the area; they would not let him down; they would not let the League down.
**********
At 11.30, in the Criminal Intelligence Service Headquarters based in the quiet countryside outside Erskine on the south-west fringes of Glasgow, in the office of one of the three Directors of the CIS, the interface on Chief Inspector Chris Roberts’ desk began to display information that aroused his interest. One section of the split screen was constantly updated with data from sources all over the UK. Reports originating from the Central Scotland section had been centring on apparently gas-main-related explosions and one of Roberts’ briefs was the investigation of terrorist activity. Two people, a mother and her son, were being sought in connection with the incidents. More data from the same source was streaming in.
Roberts was more than usually tired this morning, evidenced by the dark half-circles under his eyes. Little Sally, his six-month-old baby daughter, had been up half the night with a sickness bug. His wife Jacqueline’s stamina had lasted until three this morning, at which point Roberts had taken over. Fortunately the baby’s temperature had subsided and visit to the hospital, at the back of his mind as an option, was rendered unnecessary. But a night like that was enough to take the edge off performance at his kind of work. He half wondered if the sickness bug hadn’t been transferred to him, he felt so lousy. But now, as Roberts looked at his terminal viewscreen and read the latest reports, thoughts of fatigue and illness began to recede.
However, apart from two mysterious explosions, the interface screen now revealed that a policeman had been murdered on a train from Fort William on the West Highland Line. The killer – not yet identified - had jumped from the train and been killed himself. It appeared that the killer had been chasing the same two people whose names and faces had cropped up in the explosion reports: Doctor Janette Daniels and her son, Mark.
Chris Roberts never forgot a name. And when metaphorical alarm bells began to sound in his mind it only took him a moment’s thought to recapture the circumstances of his first acquaintance with the name of Janette Daniels.
Roberts had once arrested her husband on suspicion of terrorist involvement. At the time, after investigation, it had turned out that the husband, John, had been no more than a bit of a cranky fool involved in student hot-headedness. Charges had been dropped, eventually. Roberts recalled hearing that a missing person report had been filed for him shortly after that and he finally turned up claiming some alien abduction nonsense.
Strange, though, that the name should crop up again now.
As one of the Directors of the Criminal Intelligence Section, Roberts could mobilise considerable resources. He lost no time in doing so now. Within fifteen minutes a helicopter was ready and waiting for him on the large flat roof of the Headquarters building.
Before boarding, he placed a high-security call to General Aaron Miller, the Museum Military Commanding Officer at Stirling, who seemed to be in flap about this Daniels family’s activities. After a brief conversation, beneficial to both parties, Roberts was seated in the helicopter climbing high over Renfrewshire and turning in a wide sweep to head north over the low Kilpatrick Hills as rapidly as possible.
16 Closing In…
Logan is putting the pedal to the metal. He is hammering back down the road to Tyndrum before he races towards Killin. Other members of the League continue to stand by or are on their way to Loch Lyon already. He has been busy with the G5, mounted now on the dashboard.
Its viewscreen lights up as he takes a sharp bend a little too quickly. But the four-wheel drive holds the road and he relents a little. He recognises the site instantly. It is the Chairman. He listens as the voice tells him of his new instructions. These sound difficult to accomplish, he thinks, but the Chairman has read his thought, it seems, for everything necessary is at hand…
**********
Ten minutes have now elapsed since the two members of the League, Henderson and Johns, set off in pursuit of their targets. They are dressed for the occasion, wearing lightweight trousers and synthetic t-shirts. Their small rucksacks bob without trouble on their backs and the tough trainers on their feet are ideal for this kind of rough track-jogging.
They do no speak much. They have little to say. They had not met until today. The only things that unite them are an unthinking hatred of all things alien, and a complete willingness to do whatever the Chairman, or his representative, tells them.
Train passengers peer through the windows and point at the two running figures as they move towards the bridge of the horseshoe curve. Some speculate that they might be policemen. They are seen to check the other’s lifeless body before moving on, obviously in pursuit of the other two.
There is no ID on Cameron, as Janette had already discovered, but they are concerned that they cannot find the gun. They spend some minutes scouring the sloping, tussocky ground for it, but without success. They reach the same conclusion, that it has been picked up by their targets, and resume their jogging pursuit. They notice the broken mobile phone but fail to pay it any more than a cursory glance. Once out of sight of the gawping passengers they take out their own guns. It is as well to be prepared. It is no good jogging into an ambush.
**********
Janette tripped on another of the infernal tussocks and went sprawling in the damp grass. Anger etched a terrible scowl on her smeared face. The track had come to an abrupt stop a few minutes ago, and they were carrying on over pathless grass. About four hundred metres in front lay the narrow expanse of Loch Lyon, but they could only see a confined section of it for the moment, as they descended by uneven ground from the watershed.
“Up you get, mum,” said Mark, jogging back to help her. “Never say die.”
“I’ll tell you what you can do with your clichés, young man,” replied Janette, getting up and feebly going through the motions of dusting herself down.
“I shouldn’t bother doing that, mum, you’re just spreading the dirt around more evenly,” remarked Mark.
“Shut up shut up shut up! How far do you think we’ve come?” asked Janette.
“About a couple of miles. Maybe three from that wood.”
“Any feelings? Any insights? Any bloody ideas where we’re going?”
“Away from here, mum, if you don’t mind.”
“What is it?”
“I’m pretty sure we’re being followed. Let’s head for the loch and see what happens.”
“Oh God!” muttered Janette as they set off again. “This skirt, these blasted shoes, these goddamned mountains…”
**********
The Jeep skidded to a halt in the little farmyard some kilometres south of the small attractive town of Killin. The farm’s owner had been waiting for him. Logan got out of the Jeep as the burly man approached.
“I’m McGregor,” he said and held out a thick hand for Logan to shake. It engulfed Logan’s. “You’ll be Logan, I take it.” McGregor, a large-faced, loose-limbed man looked like he’d spent most of his forty-odd years out of doors. He regarded the younger newcomer warily as he released the hand-shake.
“That’s right,” replied Logan, returning the appraising look.
“Good. I’ve received the instructions and everything’s taken care of. Well, follow me, then.”
Logan followed the man round the farm buildings to a large open field. In the field sat a helicopter.
“I bought it a couple of years ago. It was the Chairman’s idea. Yes, the Chairman himself! It’s come in pretty handy, too. I hire it out to the tourists at this time of year for trips round Ben Lawers and round and about, you know. And in the winter it comes in handy for the Mountain Rescue from time to time.” As they moved in its direction, McGregor surveyed the chopper with obvious pride. “Aye, he must be a shrewd one, the Chairman, eh?”
“Yes,” replied Logan. The curtness of his tone, and the slightly prolonged eye-contact before turning coolly away was a clear signal to McGregor that here was his superior in the League, and loose chat about the nature of the Chairman would not be taking place.
“Right then,” said McGregor after a momentary hesitation, “let’s get you kitted up and belted in and off we go, eh? The stuff the Chairman asked for is already stashed in the back seat.”
Logan noticed the small red first aid kit, with “Mountain Leader” emblazoned on it. “The stuff’s in there?” he asked and McGregor nodded.
A few minutes later the rotor blades were in furious motion and the Logan saw the ground fall away rapidly beneath him.
**********
A few hundred metres from the sprawling buildings of Auch farm, Roberts ‘ CIS helicopter was powering down in a stretch of flatter land below the track as he boarded the motionless train. Impatient mutters of “At last!” and “Maybe they’ll finally get us on our way,” reached his ears as he sought out the officer in charge of
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