Second Chance

Chapter Twenty-Six: Incorporation

Whitfield Estate

Edinburgh, United Kingdom

3^rd September 1940

Jim Oliver allowed himself a moment of quiet relief – the contact with the German submarine had gone perfectly – before drawing the Mr Bracken personality around him. Mr Bracken had no existence in reality; he was just another false name for Oliver. A reclusive businessman, a shareholder in many companies, a man of vast wealth and discretion – and his privacy was assured. There was even an actor who played him; it was a common joke that there were several, just to hide a man from the effects of his wealth.

Oliver smiled. He’d thought up the joke and told the first ones himself. It was amazing how quickly they’d spread, but then; people always took an undue interest in the affairs of the rich and famous. Like the American author who went around with his head under a paper bag, Mr Bracken rapidly became famous, and the world conspired to keep the secret of what he looked like.

“Your car, sir,” the Chauffer said. Oliver smiled as the man opened the door; the combination of manservant and bodyguard was exactly what people expected from him. “We’re parked right outside the AIMworks.”

Oliver smiled up at him. Normally, no one would dream of parking outside the building, but people made exceptions for Mr Bracken, or his chosen representative. “Thank you, Jeeves,” he said, and climbed out. All of the trained menservants were called Jeeves; an individual name would have distinguished them. Jeeves fell into step with him, even as he checked the telecommunications system that would have once allowed him to talk to someone on the other side of the world, but for the moment was only good for Britain. People had to believe in the Bracken Myth; they would assume that Oliver was just another actor, one in close contact with Bracken himself.

“A pleasant morning, Mr Bracken,” the doorman said. He stared at Bracken with undisguised curiosity; Oliver smiled back at him. “They’re waiting for you in the lobby.”

“Thank you,” Oliver said, and tipped him twenty pounds. Having contributed to the myth – and bought some insurance against the doorman calling the local press – he headed into the lobby, where he met three men.

“Good morning, Mr Bracken,” the leader said. Oliver knew of him by reputation; Jack Thane. Founder of one of what Kasper had called the ‘whingeing liberal sops to the poor bastards who won’t work for themselves’, one of the laptop for all projects. Given how he’d come to the attention of the Germans, Oliver found it more than a little ironic.

“A pleasure to meet you at last,” Oliver said. “I have followed your work with great interest.”

It was only halfway true. He had become interested when Kasper had ordered him to find other ways of making money out of the time-slip. Of course, everyone agreed that the government had acted promptly and correctly in taking actions designed to defend Britain against German attacks, but for many companies on Britain it spelt disaster. The freezing of the stock market had saved them from collapsing at once, but all of them knew that once the market was reopened, they were doomed. AIMworks was one of those; it was a semi-charitable organisation that funded the development of cheap laptops that could be used anywhere, intended for the third world.

Oliver shrugged as Thane led him into the meeting room, passing around the table with a handful of introductions. The idea was stupid, he thought; what good would a laptop do a kid in Bangladesh? Except Bangladesh no longer existed, and might never exist, and the conversion works had ground to a halt. AIMworks was doomed – unless ‘Mr Bracken’ could pull off a miracle.

“Thank you for having me,” he said finally, as Thane finished the introductions. Jeeves took a place at the rear of the room; it was all part of the Bracken mystique. “I believe that you have a problem,” he said finally. “I shall be blunt; you are over-extended, in serious danger of not pleasing your creditors, and you no longer have a reason for existence.”

“That is accurate,” Thane said dispassionately. “I was led to believe that you have a solution for us?”

“Indeed,” Oliver said. “I am offering to buy your company outright.”

Thane blinked; the other men in the room started to chatter at high speed. “Mr Bracken,” Thane said finally, “we are a charity, of sorts, and not a business.”

Oliver smiled. “I assure you that that will not matter one jot to your creditors,” he said. “You owe money; quite a bit of money. Now, in a reasonable and fair world, they would recognise that you are no longer able to pay and let the debt slide. This is not a reasonable world, Mr Thane, and they have their own… investors to consider. It would be considered criminal negligence for them to simply… let you off, and I assure you that no CEO wants a second Mowley suit on their hands.”

They nodded. Bert Mowley had been sued by his stockholders for criminal negligence; failing to ensure that precautions were taken to upgrade the computers of the corporation. Despite a chain of reports and warnings, Mowley did nothing, the system collapsed, and hundreds of people found themselves out of pocket. The resultant legal battle had seen Mowley in jail, and the company destroyed.

“I appreciate that you are a charity,” he continued, “and there is no reason why the original ‘laptops for all’ project cannot be continued at some later date. However, for the moment, your choice is between joining me, or being sold off to pay your creditors.”

Thane nodded slowly. The burble of conversation creased. “If we accept your offer,” he said coldly, “what would you do with our… systems?”

“As you know, a small private coalition of businesses has been formed to sell advanced technology to America and the British Commonwealth,” Oliver said. “My… companies have been invited to partake, in accordance with the new regulations on technology transference.” He smiled; the laws had been lifted from US Pentagon and State Department regulations, the same ones that had held up the British Nuclear Program in the original time line. “Your laptops would make excellent trade goods.”

“I see,” Thane said. “So, perhaps…”

“What’s to stop us just selling them ourselves, or even sending them for free?” A man demanded. He was fat and greedy; the type of person who had been born to wealth, rather than earned it. Oliver despised him on sight. Such people talked for years about the hardships of being poor, and gave away their money to every charity they saw; completely unaware of what it was like to be poor.

“That would be a very stupid move,” Oliver said calmly. “For a start, you left it too late to join the coalition, and, as a charity and multinational organisation, you would not be eligible to take part. Secondarily, if you give away the laptops you will face even angrier creditors and even more laptops. Thirdly, trade unauthorised by the Home Office is an offence and you would be tossed in jail. Does that answer your question?”

“I believe that it does,” Thane said. His eyes were cool, calculating. “We would like to discuss the proposal alone.”

“Of course,” Oliver said, rising from the table. “I’ll be waiting outside.”

It took nearly an hour before they called him back. Jeeves paced impatiently; Oliver himself waited calmly. He’d spent time in a Gestapo jail; waiting in a comfortable foyer was hardly a challenge.

“We have come to a decision,” Thane said finally. “We will sell you a controlling interest in AIMworks. However, we have conditions.” Oliver lifted an eyebrow. “We want you to agree that you will continue the laptop for all program once the restrictions are released.”

“I had something like that in mind,” Oliver admitted. “I trust that that’s the only condition?”

Thane nodded. Oliver passed over the contract. The committee read it quickly, and then signed in one quick motion each. “Thank you,” Oliver said, as he made to leave. “A pleasure doing business with you.”

The car pulled out of the estate and set out along the motorway, heading back towards Glasgow. Jeeves flipped through the radio, checking for raid warnings, but there were none; the Germans were concentrating on the other end of the country. Oliver smiled; the Germans were working hard to adapt what he’d given them, but not all of it was useful.

He checked the list of companies on his lap. Selling advanced technology to America, for example, would bring in enough money to establish a covert – and commanding – position within the new global structure. Someone like Bill Gates, who became involved early enough to have an interest in all of the developments, would stand to make a fortune. Mr Bracken, the enigmatic figure, could be the figurehead.

The list was clear. Several companies stockpiled old mobile phones, ones that had been designed while they were in fashion, and then headed out of fashion and into recycling. What sort of effect would releasing thousands of them have on the global market? The Americans wouldn’t care if they were ‘old;’ the black market would be grateful for as many as they could get.

Grinning, Oliver worked though the list. The only problem was to ensure that Britain continued to benefit; it would discourage investigations from taking place. By the time that his people were building factories in America, well away from German bombs, they would be untouchable…

Metropolitan Police Headquarters

London, United Kingdom

4^th September 1940

“His name is Olaf Stevenson,” the coroner said. From his corner, Home Secretary and Leader of the Opposition Kenneth Barton retched; the body was black and blue. “He’s a Contemporary, one of the Swedish delegation.”

“I see,” Barton said. “What the hell was he doing?”

He scowled. He’d half-expected Hanover to have pushed him aside, but instead he’d been given very real responsibility. As the former Home Secretary, Hanover kept a close interest in the works of the department, but he didn’t meddle. For once, Barton was regretful; Hanover would have had more ability to make his displeasure at being summoned out of bed known.

“I don’t know,” the coroner said. She was a pretty Chinese woman; her nametag read REIKO. “I do know that he was mugged, severely beaten, and transported to hospital while in a coma. He never recovered; despite some attempts to awaken him he remained asleep, and died this morning. Preliminary examination suggests that the beating was the source of death.”

Barton studied the corpse. “I would have thought that that was obvious,” he said. “Why was the Code Red system activated?”

“Because of these,” the MI5 duty officer said. Barton hadn’t been introduced to him. “These documents contain a summery and details of our defences, with special attention to airbases and navy ports.”

“I… see,” Barton said grimly. Code Red was only used when a possible spy, or intelligence agent, was injured on British soil – carrying implicating evidence. “Who was he working for?”

“Impossible to say with any accuracy,” the MI5 officer said. “Unfortunately, I asked the MI5 history department to look him up – and his name turned up on a list of German spies within Sweden.”

“Fuck,” Barton swore. “He was here to spy on us?”

“Given what he was carrying, I don’t think that there’s any other possibility,” the MI5 officer said. “Which leaves us in a bit of a pickle.”

“What a charmingly understated way of putting it,” Barton said. “Has anyone informed his embassy?”

“Not yet,” the officer said. “Do you think we should?”

“I’m going to put this in front of the war cabinet,” Barton said. “I want you to sit on this until I call, understand?”

“Now that’s a problem,” Hanover said, once the new Home Secretary had finished detailing the problem. “Was he working for the Germans at the time?”

Stirling, who’d been ordered to find out as much as he could in an hour, shrugged. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “That particular spy ring was only discovered in 1970; the East Germans apparently took up the controls and threatened exposure if the stream of information was not continued. In 1970, the Swedes stumbled over it – and the truth came out. Quite when the Germans recruited him…”

“You’d think that seventy-five years worth of history books would have conferred upon us some advantages,” Hanover muttered.

“Most of the source materials, science-fiction novels, have something a little… smaller than the entire nation going back in time,” Stirling said. “My… second cousin wrote a book about something similar, and the problems that they faced. Our problems are worse; the Germans read English better than most of our citizens. Any of our books, such as the late Stevenson proved, can be used by the Germans; I suspect that they’re learning more and more from their prisoners – we teach World War Two in our schools.”

“A good thing that history was reduced to an elective,” Hanover said, who’d voted against that. The irony of the situation didn’t escape him. “Still, when you think about what the average citizen must know, and of how many ideas it would give to the Germans and…”

“So, what do we do about it?” McLachlan asked. “Do we tell the Swedes about the spy ring, and for good measure about the other Soviet ones? Coming to think of it, should we try to assist the Finns?”

Hanover, who’d been thinking about it, shook his head. “Whatever the… virtues, from the moral point of view, of assisting the Finns, we simply don’t have the resources. How do we slip them weapons without the Germans noticing?”

McLachlan nodded. “It’ll look bad on history’s rewritten books,” he said, “but I take your point.”

Hanover gazed at the global map. It was the original one that had been used by Churchill himself, replaced in its position. “It’s awesome, when you think about it,” he said. “We’ve dropped one hell of a pebble into history, and the ripples are still flowing around the world. In one month, Roosevelt is going to be elected…”

“We hope,” McLachlan said. “I read the report from Ambassador Quinn; the contest is undecided. Many Americans are undecided, particularly with the revelations about Soviet and German activity. They find our presence rather… unnerving, some of them are worrying about us using our sudden advantage to enforce our own will, and others want to remain in isolation. Many others think that we can win the war on our own, and then there are those who were always pro-German, and those who supported the Poles and the Jews.

“All in all, it’s a right mess,” he concluded. “I wish I could promise you a Roosevelt victory, but there’s no way to be certain. All the damage caused by the knowledge of the future is disrupting things; Southern Democrats are placing their support to the candidate who promises to limit Black influence and power, which of course loses black votes, and there have been a series of race riots in the south, and…”

“I take your meaning,” Hanover said. “I’m due to meet the Australian in the afternoon, so I’ll discuss fighting the war without American support with him. In the meantime, tell the Swedes about Mr Sevenson’s other masters; they can decide for themselves how to react.”

Menzies was grudgingly impressed by the quality of the history books available to him. His own memoirs, lovingly detailed, had been a chilling read, as had the other books about him. Learning about his career gave him some pride and more concern; his attempts to build a global coalition out of the British Empire had ended in failure. Or, at least, they had ended in failure in the original history. In the new history, they might bear impressive fruit indeed.

“I’m sorry about the delay,” Hanover said, as he led Menzies into the small coffee room. A cup of the steaming drink was already waiting for them. “An important matter came up and I had to deal with it.”

“That’s quite all right,” Menzies assured him. “I’ve been learning about your world. It’s an interesting place, but I’m not sure I want to live there.”

Hanover chucked harshly. “Me neither,” he said. He sipped his coffee carefully. “You know; the price of coffee – good coffee, or expensive coffee, which amounts to the same thing – has gone through the roof. We might be keeping people alive, but all the people who enjoyed their luxuries have discovered that prices are even beyond their resources.”

“I suppose that being dislocated in time will do that to you,” Menzies said absently. “I, however, have a problem.”

“The Japanese,” Hanover said. “They must know what’s happened now; they have spies and agents in America, and our possessions. Ambassador Yurina Sako wanted to return, so I let her, sending her the long way around.”

Menzies stared at him. “Are you out of your mind?” He snapped. “It’s bad enough the Germans having some of your people, but to send an enemy person back into the nest of vipers…”

Hanover smiled. “She knows just how much ruin the Japanese caused,” he said. “She wants to convince them to be peaceful instead.” He shrugged. “It’s not going to work out that way, of course.”

“Of course not,” Menzies said, with all the grim certainty of a person who had watched the ‘Yellow Peril’ expanding in his direction. “So, what are you going to do about it?”

“The problem is that deploying asserts to Australia will take time,” Hanover said. “We’ve been working on dispatching your units from the Middle East, and on reinforcing Singapore – and improving the defences as well.”

“Yes, that would be a good idea,” Menzies said dryly. The report on how the fortress had fallen had been shocking. “Anything else?”

“Hopefully, we should have a handful of submarines in the region in a week,” Hanover said. “We’re also dispatching some fleet support units, and once we have an air bridge we can move in more weapons. The problem, of course, is that the Japanese might strike now, before we are ready to meet them.

“We have dispatched, on freighters, a number of radar-guided weapons, which can be used to swat Zeros from the sky,” Hanover continued. “The problem, however, is that our asserts have been stripped to the bone – and you don’t have the ability to support our ships.”

“So we’re on our own,” Menzies said bitterly. “All the effort that I put in to…”

“Never,” Hanover said cheerfully. “We can and will send some of our army units, and more as they become available. We can also spare a single AWACS aircraft, which can track Japanese aircraft at very long distances, and some Sea Shadow missiles, which can be coordinated with the AWACS to strike at Japanese ships over the horizon.”

He sobered. “A lot depends on the Japanese,” he said. “If they strike now, we would face a long hard fight before they could be defeated.”