'I'm Jimmy Armstrong.'
'I know that.' He took a mouthful of food and chewed it methodically. When he'd swallowed and allowed ten seconds for digestion, he glanced up at Jimmy. 'Your face — must hurt.'
'A bit.'
'You kept getting up.'
'Stubborn, I suppose.'
'When it was my turn, I got hit once and stayed down. Hit by a girl. She's half my size. Mohican says that if we go to war, I can carry the First Aid kit.'
'It's important to have First Aid,' said Jimmy.
'I faint at the sight of blood,' said Harry.
'Well, maybe we won't go to war.'
Harry blinked at him. 'Then why build an army?'
It was a good point.
An officer stood up at the far end of the hall and blew a whistle. There was an immediate scramble to finish off, deposit the empty plates and get back to barracks. Jimmy, his mouth full of ham, had intended to return with his new friend, but Harry magically lost him in the crush.
This time, when he walked in, all eyes were immediately upon him. They were already getting changed into the training kits they'd been issued with, but all movement stopped.
Jimmy stood in the doorway.
'I'm back,' he said.
He held his hands up in what he hoped looked like an apologetic gesture.
A big guy called Gomez walked up to him. 'Here,' he said, and thrust a fresh set of T-shirt and shorts into his hands. 'You'll need these.'
'Cheers,' said Jimmy.
'You take a good punch,' said Gomez. He nodded once and returned to the side of his bed to continue changing.
'Mohican was mad as hell!' someone shouted from the other end of the hut.
'You just wouldn't stay down!' someone else called.
Jimmy smiled crookedly. 'Next time I will,' he said. Laughter rolled around the barracks.
'There won't be a next time.' It was Rain Man. The lightness evaporated immediately. 'We all went hungry because of you.'
'Yeah, well,' said Jimmy.
He moved to his bed and began to get changed. He could feel Rain Man's eyes on him.
'Give Frankie a break,' someone shouted.
'Yeah — Frankie took his punishment, and now he's back, so give him a break.'
Jimmy looked up. 'Cheers,' he said, 'but the name's Jimmy.'
'Have you looked in the mirror lately, Frankie?' Gomez asked.
The penny dropped. Frankie for Frankenstein. His face was so battered he looked like a monster. Claire, who was well-read, could have pointed out that Frankenstein was actually the name of the guy who built the legendary monster out of body parts and not the monster itself. Jimmy was none the wiser. And it didn't matter.
He laughed. 'Frankie,' he repeated. 'Frankie.'
Training didn't get any easier. In the morning, and then again in the afternoon, Mohican worked them like dogs over an assault course built at the northern tip of the fort. They climbed mock cliff-faces, swung on ropes across imaginary gorges, balanced on narrow beams and crawled through mud while being screamed at to keep their heads down to avoid invisible bullets. Jimmy threw himself into it all enthusiastically. He helped out the slow and the lame and the exhausted and, in turn, when he faltered he was helped out by his comrades. They were learning not just to help themselves, but to help each other. They were becoming a team, a troop, a well-oiled machine.
When the sun finally began to dip Mohican ordered them back to the barracks for a shower. They were all exhausted, but it was a good kind of exhaustion. They'd all come through a tough day. When they crossed to the mess hall it was as one big group. On the way there it was all, 'Frankie this,' and 'Frankie that'. His sins had been forgiven, if not forgotten. Only Rain Man stayed clear of him.
Just as Jimmy finished eating, Mohican appeared at his shoulder and said he was wanted over at the White House. Jimmy made a surprised face at his comrades and rose. They marched over together, silently. This time, instead of being shown into the President's office, he was led along a corridor and told to wait outside while Mohican went on in. As he stood he studied a series of framed photographs hanging on the wall. The President featured in all of them — there he was raising his right hand and taking the oath of office; there he was helping to build Fort Hope; another showed him standing with young recruits, overseeing their training; yet another pictured him with his senior officers — Mohican standing proudly on one side and . . . another somehow familiar face on the other . . . Jimmy knew it, he definitely knew it, but he just couldn't place . . . and then a shiver of recognition coursed through him. It was the Minister . . . the man who had so recently tried to kill him . . . even though he had only observed him at a distance, there was something so striking about him that Jimmy was absolutely certain that this was the same man, the same murderer. Except that here he was wearing an army uniform . . . he wasn't a man of the cloth, he was a soldier. But what on earth had he been doing then, dressed as . . . ? Jimmy jumped as the door opened suddenly behind him and Mohican was back, clicking his fingers at him to enter. Jimmy, his thoughts still jumbled, stepped into a large, bright room. Each of its walls was covered in maps; different coloured pins were stuck in them. He had seen rooms like this in movies.
It's a war room.
They're planning a battle or an invasion or . . .
'Ah, Private Armstrong.' The President, who was standing with several of his officers before a street map of New York City, indicated for Jimmy to walk with him. He led him to a large-scale map showing the eastern United States. The President's officers stood behind Jimmy 'I'd like you to show me, if you could,' said the President, 'the ports that the Titanic has stopped at in the past few weeks.'
Jimmy stepped calmly forward and pretended to examine the map, but his mind was racing. He already knew that the President planned to seize the ship, but he would have to find it first. Jimmy was determined not to give anything away that might help him track it down, but he had to do it in such a way that he appeared to be trying to help. If he was cooperative then he could continue to plan his escape; defiance would only land him in more trouble and place him under even more intense scrutiny.
He shook his head slowly. 'I'm sorry, but most of the places we stopped at, they're new settlements, they're not on any map.'
'You must have a rough idea,' said one of the officers.
'Not really. Last one we stopped at was Tucker's Hole.' He waved vaguely at the map. He wasn't giving anything away — that was where he'd first encountered the President, and the President knew it. 'I'm not even sure where it is . . .'
The President jabbed a finger at the map. 'Here.'
'A ship that size,' said one of the officers, 'is going to need hundreds of thousands of gallons of oil to refuel. You don't pick those up at the settlements. What cities has the ship stopped at?'
Jimmy looked helplessly at the map. It wouldn't be hard for them to discover where the Titanic had started her voyage — it had been well publicised before the plague struck that she was bound for Miami for the first leg of her journey. So he pointed at it on the map. 'After that, I'm not too sure, there were a couple of stops, but I didn't pay a lot of attention.'
'I thought you were a reporter, Private,' said the President. 'Wasn't it your job to know?'
'We weren't told. The captain didn't want to upset the passengers and crew who had families ashore. I think the plan might have been to cross the Atlantic, you know, back to Belfast. I think that's where they've probably gone now.'
The President's eyes bored into him for what felt like an eternity, before he turned suddenly away and studied the map again. 'OK. Miami to Tucker's Hole, travelling north. If she's crossing the Atlantic she's going to have to fill her tanks. So the next major port she'll arrive at would have to be . . .' He traced his finger up the map. 'New York. Agreed, gentlemen?'