by Dave Lacey
Stan knew what people thought of him, what they said behind his back, but he dealt with it all stoically. His time would come, and they would all feel pretty stupid when he was proved right. He took his rucksack from his back, and decided to make camp here for the night. From his pack, he took out the Microfast Camo tent, and within a minute it was pitched and ready to accommodate. His decision had come not a moment too soon – it started to rain almost immediately. At this time of year, the Brecon Beacons was one of the most inhospitable places to spend the night outdoors, the combination of cold, wind and rain making life very uncomfortable.
Once inside, Stanley unpacked his small Coleman Sportster stove and fired it up. He took out his single serving pan and tipped a cupful of water into it. Once the water was simmering nicely, he took an Oxo cube and dropped it into the bubbling water. He loved this part of the adventure: if there was anything better than a cup of hot Oxo when the outdoors contrived to make life difficult, then Stanley had never encountered it. When you were cold to the core, the drink seemed to breathe new life into your very being; he imagined its effect being something like the old Ready Brek adverts, the ‘central heating for kids’ ones. He turned off the stove, took the last lump of bread from his pack, and dipped it into the Oxo. With something approaching ecstasy, he ate the bread, then cupped both hands around the small pan and savoured its beefy warmth. Feeling the spreading glow, Stan cleaned out the pan and stowed it away in his pack.
Having zipped up the front of his tent, he took out his map of the Beacons and donned his LED Lenser - H7 focusing head torch. Stan marked off the progress he had made that day, and gave a little grunt of disappointment. He had been convinced the collection of buildings would have been in the grid he had just covered, but it simply wasn’t there. Before becoming too disgruntled, he gave thanks for the life he was able to lead. Very few people, he reasoned, were lucky enough to be able to lead the existence that Stanley did: indulging in his own pursuits, following whichever particular thread excited him at the time. Mum and Dad had left him financially independent, which obviously made all the difference, but he never squandered money. He lived quite simply really – money didn’t interest him – but that was often the case with people who had it to spare. His passion was the unexplained, unveiling secrets, and finding evidence to support myths.
His current project, which had led him here to the middle of nowhere, was the most exciting he had ever embarked on. He had first discovered its origins six years before, when discussing another project with a fellow debunker. It had been whispered to him, furtively, toward the end of a night in the local pub. The teller had made Stan promise not to reveal it to anybody else, and he had been able to make the promise easily. The fact was, he didn’t believe it, and so did not find it difficult not to talk. Over the course of the next twelve months, though, he had come across more and more snippets of information – information that had finally convinced him that it might be real, and that it warranted further investigation.
Gradually, Stanley had started to piece together the disparate sources of data and bring them into one large cohesive plot. By the time he had done so, he was incredulous at its sheer scale and level of secrecy. People seemed to know bits, but it became apparent nobody knew it all. Considering the nature of people, that was hugely surprising. He lay in his tent, feeling a certain degree of self satisfaction; nobody outside the circle of knowledge knew what he knew. Before sleep took him, the words of a friend now departed came back to him in full: “Stanley, there are those that do not like what it is that we do, and they will seek to silence us using any measures they deem necessary. It is our job to fly in the face of such censure, to fight the system, to seek to reveal the truth. It is our job, Stanley, to resist with the very fibre of our being, regardless of the retribution this brings on our heads.”
He knew the risks. He had been threatened before, not on this project, but on another. It had been terrifying, and he had for a long time considered bringing his own particular crusade to an end. Boredom had soon put paid to that, and he had picked up the reigns once more. Lying here, in a one-man tent in the cold, wet, Brecon Beacons, thoughts of his own mortality came back to him. They came back to him, because this was easily the most dangerous knowledge he had ever possessed. And the people involved would do anything to prevent it from being uncovered.
***
Morning came, and with it the wind increased considerably. Stanley breakfasted on cereal bars and a lovely mug of Clippers tea. He felt almost human again, the tea and food having the desired restorative effect. Born on the wind was a very fine drizzle, which he knew would soak him within fifteen minutes of being exposed to it. Irrespective of the wind and rain, one could not help but admire the rugged beauty of the rolling Welsh hills. If he was honest, sitting Buddha-like in his own nylon cave, sheltered from the wind and rain, cup of tea in hand, admiring the majesty of his surroundings, part of the thrill of the life he led was to experience moments like this one. Stanley had a decision to make, though: to stay here and wait until the rain abated, or to carry on regardless? He decided on the former, and so made himself comfortable, taking out his latest Conn Iggulden novel and losing himself in the world of the sons of Genghis Khan and the plains of Mongolia.
After three hours of continent conquering bliss, Stanley noticed the rain had stopped and the wind had died down. Within fifteen minutes, he was shaking out his tent, ridding it of as much moisture as he could and repackaging it onto his rucksack. A nip of whiskey and ginger wine from his hipflask, to brace him against the elements, and Stan was on his way. For the next five hours, he traversed three more squares on his grid and marked them off. He was preparing himself for another night under the stars as the light started to fade, when he came over a rise which revealed another stunning vista. It was not the view which lifted his spirits though.
About a mile further on, sitting within a basin-like fold of ground, was the outer edge of a range of enormous buildings. It was difficult to make out exactly what the installation comprised because the light was fading fast. Yet even as he looked upon it, the huge floodlights that were spaced around every fifty to seventy metres blinked into life. They stretched away into the distance, emphasising the scale of the enterprise. Stanley stood riveted to the spot, hardly able to comprehend it all. This was incredible, way beyond anything he had imagined it would be, and way beyond anything that had previously been described. People were moving about between the buildings, and vehicles flowed in and out of a pair of gates which appeared to be the main ones serving the compound. As if it had just tapped him lightly on the shoulder to awaken him from his stupefied slumber, concern slowly spread through his body. Stanley dropped back from view and took shelter behind a rocky outcrop, but still could not take his eyes from his discovery. Unfortunately for Stan, his concern had awakened him too late. For what he had not seen from his vantage point was the motion sensing camera disguised among the rocks to his right.
***
“Who in God’s name is that, and how did he get this far?” The colonel was addressing the technicians gathered before the screen as they were looking at Stanley Marshall cowered behind some rocks.
“Well? Somebody must have an answer?”
“Sir,…” the technician started.
“Colonel.”
“Sorry?” the technician asked.
“My title is Colonel, it took a long time to earn it, so please use it.” The colonel wasn’t overly aggressive, but he didn’t like working with civilians.
Alasdair Green addressed the uniformed man. “Colonel, sir, the patrols usually pick up anybody who gets within five miles of the compound. However, if the patrols don’t pick them up, the cameras will do so. As they have here.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that. But, I ask you, what is the point in picking somebody up when they have already seen us here? Why are the cameras so close to the installation? What’s the point of it?”
“Colonel, sir,” Green continued. “
The primary cameras should have picked him up. The secondary camera has spotted him on this occasion. It’s possible that we have a problem with the primary camera that he would’ve passed, sir.”
“Well, far be it from me to question you, Green, but shouldn’t we establish whether that is the case, before any other civilians wander into the fence?”
“Yes, Colonel, sir. I’ll send out a team straight away.” Green at least had the good grace to look abashed.
“Now, as we have this little problem, what do you civilians think we should do about it?” The colonel was not really looking for an answer from them, but he at least wanted them to know something of the pressure he felt when things like this happened.
“Oh, er, well, maybe we should have him picked up and dropped off somewhere far from here and tell him not to come back?” one of the other specialists offered.
“Really? You think that would do it do you? Just ask him nicely not to come back? And what if he does? What if he brings friends or the press with him next time?” They were all silent in response; none of them had a clue. Well, he was going to give them more information than he thought they could handle.
“Gentlemen and lady. It’s time you knew the harsh realities of what we’re doing here. This man cannot be allowed to simply walk away from here, to go back to his friends and tell them what he has seen. Before you know it, we’d be swarming with curious ramblers, half the country’s press, never mind the downright nosey. No, unfortunately for him, and now you, this man must not be allowed to go free.” He looked at them meaningfully, waiting for the penny to drop. Then Green spoke again.
“You mean… you mean you’re going to abduct him?”
The colonel chuckled. “Mr Green, it’s not a question of ‘you’, this is very definitely a ‘we’ situation. We’re in this together, and do not underestimate what that means. If this all goes badly for me, then it’ll most certainly go badly for you also. All of you. You need to know this, because when you just allow somebody to trundle up to our fence and wave, you put us in all in the gravest danger.” The colonel paused, staring at each of them in turn. “This facility must remain a secret, for our sake and for the sake of those not lucky enough to be involved. In future, can we please ensure that all of our detection processes are in good working order, and that, if they’re not, we remedy the situation as quickly as we can?”
“Yes, Colonel, sir, I apologise.” Green did indeed look contrite. “What’ll happen to him, Colonel?”
“At the moment, I’m not certain, but at the very least we’ll detain him here as our guest. But I have to say, I wouldn’t expect him to remain here for very long. A decision will be made one way or the other.” The colonel did not look happy at this final comment – he felt he already knew what fate would befall the man outside the fence.
Chapter 36
Stanley decided to wait until after dark to make his way toward the fence. He couldn’t believe he had made it this far without running into a patrol of some sort. He was no expert, but it seemed that if this was the place he was looking for, then it must have a lot of security surrounding it. It stood to reason. He sat back against the rock he had initially hidden behind, and decided to make a drink. He broke out the stove and started heating the water. Within seven or eight minutes he was pondering his next move, cup of tea in hand.
Should he try to scale the fence? Was that too dangerous? Should he look for an entrance? What would happen if he were considered unwelcome? To be fair, he couldn’t imagine how he would be viewed otherwise. It was fully dark now, and Stanley cleaned out his cup and stowed it away. He had just risen to his feet when he heard something off to his right. It sounded like footsteps. Alarmed, Stanley made to run in the opposite direction, and then a commanding and confident voice shattered the stillness of the night.
“Stay right there, sir!” a voce commanded. Stanley considered running, but he was certain he couldn’t outrun anyone with the kit on his back.
“Drop to your knees! Don’t make any sudden movements!” Stanley did as he was ordered. He swallowed rapidly, his breathing coming to him in short shallow breaths. He knew he was in trouble now.
“What is it exactly that you think you’re doing here?” The voice was right behind him now, and, judging by the number of feet he could see from his lower position, he would say there were five people surrounding him, all wearing fatigues.
“I’m a rambler. I love the Beacons and decided to explore. What’s the harm in that? What have I done wrong?”
“Sir, this area is out of bounds to civilians. I’m going to ask you to get to your feet and accompany us back to our base. Get up slowly, please.” Stan started to panic a little; he had not been expecting them to take him into the facility itself.
“But why? I haven’t done anything. I could just go back the way I came and we could forget all about this.” Stanley didn’t like the way they were looking at him: a cross between pity and coldness.
“Stand up please, sir, and don’t do anything silly,” the leader of the group said. “We’re carrying live ammo.”
Stanley could not help noticing that the leader would not look him in the eyes.
***
Jack started in on the latest leg of conversation with Smithy. He was still not convinced about the Edward Warwick scenario. “Look, I know it’s case closed and all, but I’d still like to track down the head of that church and speak to him. Something’s still gnawing away at my insides, and I’d like to get some closure,” Jack leaned on the edge of the desk, his sleeves rolled up, puffing out his cheeks.
“I realise you’re a very anal person,” Smithy replied, sniffing loftily. “But you need to let this one go. I admit there are aspects of it that still bug me, but I’m adult enough to rise above it.”
“Oh, piss off! You’re the most childish person I know. What about this thing, the something that Paul Warwick claimed was the reason his mother and boyfriend were dead?”
“Erm, hello? His father having killed them?” Smithy spoke with the rising intonation usually heard in Australian soap operas, elbows leaning on the desk, his hands raised toward the ceiling, along with his eyebrows.
“Do you have any idea how lame you sounded just then?” Jack asked him seriously.
“Oh, please, don’t take it out on me because you’re in a bad mood.” Smithy said.
“You’re a knob. You must admit there are loads of elements that simply don’t add up?”
“I agree, but the chief’s happy with the outcome, so what can we do?”
“Well, I’m glad you ask.” Jack sat on the edge of the desk and folded his arms. “You and I both have leave that we’re due to take before the end of the year. What say we take that leave and do a little digging?”
“Jack, we’re not in a frigging period drama – ‘what say’! And my answer is no chance. I have plans for that time off, and I’m going to execute them.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“Who’s my best friend?” Jack asked as if talking to a toddler.
“I am,” Smithy answered coyly, grinning.
“Who always comes through for me?”
“I do.” Smithy was smiling and looking at the floor, kicking the tiles playfully.
“Okay, so who’s gonna help me solve this riddle?”
Smithy exhaled forcefully. “Oh, okay, what do you want to do?” Jack smiled, and stood and patted the top of Smithy’s head.
“Good boy! Here, have a treat.” He threw Smithy a jelly bean.
Chapter 37
Stanley sat handcuffed to the metal chair. He was had taken in his surroundings in the first thirty seconds: there was a chair, a table, four walls, a ceiling and a floor. That was it. He was feeling very sorry for himself, but he still had one hope. As he sat congratulating himself on his foresight, the door sprang open and a tall military man walked in and closed it behind him.
“Good morning, Stanley. How are you feeling?”
“Not s
o good. And you are?” he asked, sticking out his chin defiantly.
“I am the Colonel. That’s all you need to know right now. What are you doing here, Stanley?”
“Is it against the law to be in the Brecon Beacons?”
“Stanley, let’s not piss each other about. I know you weren’t here by chance. I know you’re here for a reason, and I would like to know what that reason is.”
“Sod off. You can’t just hold me here, I haven’t done anything wrong.” Stanley’s voice was rising in panic now. He was tired, hungry and thirsty. He wanted to go home.
“Stan – you don’t mind me calling you that?” The colonel didn’t wait for a response. “You would probably be surprised to know that I can do just about anything I want to you, or anybody else I find wandering around here. Now, why are you here? If you tell me, I’ll get you some food and something to drink.”
“This is ridiculous. I’m a British citizen. I have a tent and supplies. I was camping in the Brecon’s, that’s all.”
“Stan, this is going to be a long stay for you if you don’t tell me something meaningful soon. And believe me when I tell you, we haven’t even started to try to draw information from you yet.” The colonel didn’t try to look mean and menacing – he didn’t have to; he was telling the truth. He opened his hands and showed them to Stan, an open gesture.
The colonel watched as beads of sweat formed on Stanley’s brow; this was how the military man earned his salary. They all started bravely, then the sweat formed on the brow, then eventually they caved.
“Stanley, it’s in your own interests to tell me what you know and why you came here. I’ll go now and leave you to think on it for a little while. If I come back and you’re still disinclined to speak, then I’m afraid I’ll have to call on some of my men to help us.” He turned to leave, but was stilled with his hand on the doorknob by a small voice behind him.
