by Tony Moyle
“Where have you been, Sandy? I’ve been circling the block for about an hour. I would have rung but you told me not to contact you,” said Ian.
“Then you must be early,” replied Sandy, looking at his watch. “I hope you’ve brought a balaclava with you, Ian? You look like a magician has just pulled an exceedingly ugly white rabbit out of an oversized top hat.”
“Yes, I have, but I didn’t think it was the best thing to wear while driving around London at this time in the morning,” Ian responded with unfamiliar good sense.
“I see you brought the sat nav. I had fears that you’d take me to the West Country rather than the Tavistock Institute.” Sandy glanced across at the colour display on the dashboard as the arrow indicated their movement north along Park Lane.
“Did you manage to speak to Violet?” asked Ian, breaking a long period of silence.
“No, not yet. It appears she may have gone further underground than I had first imagined. Let’s just see if she turns up when we get there.”
“So are you going to hand her over, then?”
Sandy ignored the question.
They travelled north out of London, passing many of the illuminated sights of interest at that end of the city. The still brightly lit arch of Wembley Stadium loomed to their left as they joined the motorway, travelling in silence, each contemplating what they would find when they arrived. The M25 was deserted and for the first time in its creation a car was able to drive to its designated speed limit. At junction eighteen they joined the main road into the heart of Buckinghamshire.
“What did you manage to find out?” asked Sandy, keen to see what information Ian had gained about their destination as they drew closer to it.
“There’s absolutely nowhere to get breakfast in London at two in the morning.”
“Tavistock, Ian, Tavistock.”
“Oh. It’s definitely animal testing, that’s for sure. But there’s no information as to the purpose. The secrecy around this place is immense.”
“What’s your hunch, what do you think they’re doing there?”
“It’s anyone’s guess, but it’s definitely government-financed and it’s definitely new. There are absolutely no records of this place more than four years old. It’s almost as if it was purpose-built.”
“How do you know there is animal testing?” asked Sandy trying to punch holes in Ian’s theories.
“Same as normal, our friends the activists. They have witnessed birdcages being unloaded, but they can’t say what was in them for certain.”
This was a smart piece of intelligence. Whenever the government was up to its knees in something they had the perfect circumstances for hiding information, even from their own secret services. The people that they couldn’t hide things from, though, were the general public. The government would happily play down any insights as misinformation or outlandish conspiracy theories, a sure-fire indication that it was really true.
“We’re almost there,” said Ian, as he pulled over into a quiet country lane lay-by, pointing to the sat nav that indicated that they had two more miles to go. He turned off the engine and both men walked calmly to the rear of the vehicle.
Inside the van were an array of instruments lined up on solid metal shelves. This was a secret service vehicle, brimming with the most up to date surveillance equipment the government could buy or steal. Amongst the computer screens, thermal imaging equipment, data recorders and a vast array of weaponry were the most incongruous of items. A row of empty cages were positioned at regular intervals amongst the 21st-century paraphernalia.
“Let’s have a look at the blueprints for this place.” Sandy motioned for Ian to load them up on-screen and after several moments of uncomfortable computer flapping he succeeded.
“Here we go. As you can see, for somewhere this secretive, it’s strangely unprotected. It only has a few security guards or guardhouses. It’s as if they want as few people to know of this place as possible. There are two main entrances. The main gate and a service entrance at the rear of the grounds. The place is covered extensively by CCTV, but that won’t be a problem, we can interfere with the signal. We have the entrance codes for the gate and I have managed to get two security passes for the main building. No one should suspect us getting in. The guards patrol the building on a regular pattern: if we use the passes it will appear that we are them,” explained Ian, pointing to various parts of the plans as he gave his summary.
“What about the guards that are onsite now…won’t they see something?”
“I had some special cakes sent to them that should knock them out for a fair few hours,” Ian replied proudly.
“I’m impressed, for once you seem to have everything in order.” Sandy could be extremely cynical towards Ian, but he had to give him his dues this time.
“Thanks,” replied Ian cautiously.
“Here’s the plan. We’ll drive up to the service gate and pass through the delivery hatches. Once there, we can get in with the passes. It’s a big site: where is the best place to wait?”
“There is a main lab on the first floor, not far from where we get in. That will be the natural place to start,” replied Ian.
Sandy consulted a few of the screens and turned on some of the instruments. “OK. Let’s get it over and done with.”
Both men pulled their balaclavas over their faces, clambered back out of the vehicle and into the front seats. Ian pulled away slowly, following the winding road down to the institute. It was the sort of road that you wouldn’t choose to drive down, narrow and littered with potholes. There was certainly no indication in the road itself, or the occasional signposts, that one of the UK’s leading laboratories was waiting at the end of it.
The service entrance was located on the farthest side of this massive site and from what Ian had uncovered it was normally unoccupied at night. The main entrance, just off the main road, was far more conspicuous, being the normal entrance for the staff that worked there. That side had a security post where the two full-time guards watched any activity on their CCTV screens. The service entrance on the other hand was secured by a large, eight-foot-high, automatic metal gate. As the black Transit van pulled up alongside it, Ian leant out of his window and typed in the eight-digit security code that he’d written on a scrap of paper.
The gates parted slowly, but rather too noisily for Sandy’s liking, allowing them to drive through to the delivery hatches at the back of the building. The delivery hatches resembled those that you would find at a logistics warehouse, where lorries would reverse in to load and unload their cargo. Sandy suspected that these had been constructed for the purpose of secrecy, rather than ease of use. At the side of one of these hatches an entrance led into the facility.
“You’d better put one of these on,” said Ian, throwing a pair of night vision goggles in Sandy’s direction.
“Is that really necessary?” Sandy glared at them unconvinced.
“Well, unless you want us to put all the lights on, then it might be useful. We could stand there with a big sign that said ‘Intruders’ instead, save the aggro.”
It had been many years since Sandy had taken any active role in this kind of exercise and he was very much out of practice. They placed the devices over their eyes and immediately the distinct green effect coloured the objects in front of them.
“Let’s keep totally silent once we’re in. If I think we need to go back to the van, I’ll point to the exit,” added Sandy with one final word before they left the van to move towards the door.
When they reached it, both swiped their security cards through the electronic lock situated on the wall. After a moment the red light turned green and the door lock buzzed opened, allowing them entrance. There were no signs of any recent activity: if they didn’t know better they’d have thought they were inside an empty warehouse. Using the plans that they had seen in the van, they made their way a short distance towards the main lab. Entering the unlocked room they were knocked back by the smell
that hit them. Both of them spontaneously covered their noses. It stank. It was the unmistakable smell of faeces, and the source of the smell was quite obvious.
Past the rows of benches, fridges, and cluttered apparatus, were row upon row of cages. There were hundreds positioned throughout the room. Neither of them had to go very far to realise what they contained. On top of the smell they were met by a barrage of cooing, the noise that only a pigeon can make. In fact it was the sound of a hundred pigeons, all cooing along in an irregular pattern, like a loud, looped version of the chorus line to, ‘I Am the Walrus.’ Coo, coo, cajew.
If they needed any proof that these were the subject of scientific experiments, they found it in the appalling physical condition of the animals. They had been hand-plucked ready for the pot. Others had horrific scars, the result of sharp objects forcibly inserted or removed. Since stepping back from the hands-on approach to focus on his ability to make changes through political pressure, Sandy had forgotten the harsh realities of vivisection. He felt physically sick as his body shook with anger and the blood start to boil in his veins. Although he hadn’t planned for it, he was compelled to act.
Sandy whispered, “I don’t want you to answer, just do it. Take all of these poor creatures back to the van. All of them: put more than one to a cage if you have to.”
Ian’s mouth dropped down to his chin as he mimed furiously at the difficulty and the scale of the task. It was too late to get Sandy’s attention, who had already made his way to the first set of cages and was placing as many birds to a cage that he realistically and humanely could. Once the first cage was packed, he moved on to the next. Ian finally picked up Sandy’s instructions and followed suit. Once they had four or five cages ready, Sandy pointed to the door as their agreed signal for returning to the van, carefully picking up as many cages as they could. In the back of the van, Sandy transferred some of the birds into the empty cages that were already arranged on the shelves.
“We’ll never get them all in, Sandy, and if I’m honest, I’m not sure this is what we came for,” pleaded Ian, hoping that Sandy might see some sense.
“Maybe not, but we have to try. It’s what we believe in. You finish off the rest. I want to check out that office just off from that main lab, see what I can find out about this place.”
Ian had seen this thrill-seeking side of Sandy before, and above all else it was usually him that suffered most off the back of it.
“And get the bomb ready,” Sandy whispered as he leapt out of the van and scurried back to the building.
Ian couldn’t remember how many trips he had made in total. But after about twenty minutes all the birds were packed and transferred to the van. Trying to estimate how many of them they’d rescued, he made a final guess of one hundred and twenty. The noise which had been loud in the lab was now deafening, making Ian edgy about the unwanted attention it might draw.
He shut the back door to insulate the noise levels and reached onto the shelves, pulling down a rectangular metal box. On the front glowed an LCD screen and two metal nuts, one attached with a crocodile clip and one wire hanging loose at the side. Ian peered down at his wristwatch which was now showing 4.55 a.m. Using the buttons below the screen, he set the bomb to 6.00 a.m, which was now flashing in red from the tinted blue screen. He was just attaching the last wire to the other metal nut when Sandy emerged from the gloomy distance, his face almost as white as Ian’s.
“What’s happened?” asked Ian when Sandy reached the van.
“I know what they’re doing in there. I can’t believe they could have gone this far, it’s worse than I could ever imagine. They’ve got to be stopped. This isn’t just about animal rights anymore, this threatens every person in the country,” replied Sandy, shaking uncontrollably with both rage and shock. “Is the bomb ready?”
Ian nodded in confirmation.
“Then let’s rid the world of it,” announced Sandy.
“Okay, the bomb’s in the front cab ready to go. I’ve set it for 6.00 a.m. I’ve got all the birds out, too,” replied Ian, all in all feeling it had been a good night’s work for him.
“Ian, I think for the first time in your life you’ve avoided doing something stupid,” said Sandy, following Ian into the front to collect the device.
“How does it feel?”
“Overdue,” replied Ian.
“What’s that ticking noise?” asked Sandy.
“That’ll be my new watch, it’s on the dashboard there. I took it off to set the time on the bomb.”
Ian pointed to the passenger seat sill next to where Sandy was now sitting. He picked up Ian’s watch and held it to his ear before giving it a gentle shake, finally peering down to his own golden wristwatch for comparison.
“Ian, why does your watch say almost 5.00 a.m when mine says it’s almost 6.00 a.m.?”
“That’s the time, Sandy,” replied Ian. “Five o’clock in the morning. I double-checked.”
Sandy looked again at the two watches in either hand.
“Oh no…I can’t believe that you would be so stupid…even you aren’t capable of this. Tell me you put your watch forward by an hour tonight?”
“No, was I meant to?”
*****
Agent 15 peered through the window of his blacked-out Land Rover, spinning the barrel of his old-fashioned Smith & Wesson pistol, removing and replacing the six bullets in a way that only a true obsessive-compulsive can know how. He was bored. He absolutely hated stake-outs. He joined the services for excitement, and this wasn’t it. There was no value in a man of his notable reputation sitting on his backside. The only saving grace was that he had one less hour than usual to sit there, thanks to the change to British summertime. The building that was the focus of his lack of interest was the Tavistock Institute.
It stood in front of him, grey under the darkness of this early Sunday morning. Most of the expansive complex of buildings was nestled in the valley. But he could see the main entrance on the other side of the iron security gates from where he sat in his car. Except for one solitary security guard, probably half-asleep in the gatehouse, the place was unoccupied. Having sat there for several hours, he felt the whole task lacked a degree of purpose, even though he knew the importance of this place. The Prime Minister had given no indication of what might happen, apart from a general fear for the safety of the thing that lay within the perimeter.
Agent 15 knew that the Tavistock Institute was a government laboratory founded by the eminent scientist Paul Tavistock, now more commonly known as Lord Tavistock. Other than that it sat on the edge of a sleepy town in Buckinghamshire, he knew very little else about it. What he did know was what it now contained, and given the current climate he recognised the Prime Minister’s nervousness. The Institute was one of the few government-run facilities that hadn’t been the subject of an attack over recent months. It was only a matter of time before they would try.
He peered up at the car’s clock, just above the rear-view mirror, and watched it flick to 5.59am. Deciding that this was as good a time as any to stretch his legs, he got out of the car to contemplate how long he would remain waiting for nothing to happen. As he stepped outside, the dimly lit morning was suddenly brightened by a spectacular explosion. A huge column of fire and smoke stretched into the sky from somewhere at the rear of the institute building. Agent 15’s eyes twinkled: finally his night was about to get interesting.
- CHAPTER SEVEN -
PRIME MINISTER’S QUESTION TIME
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for gathering here so early on a Sunday morning,” announced Byron T. Casey, whose hands gripped firmly on the rostrum as he stared out into the crowd of waiting journalists. “In the current climate it is important that we share with you any updates on the battle against the terrorist scourge that has plagued this country as soon as the news breaks. It is with great heart that as of now, that war is won.”
He waited for the rapturous applause to wash over him. After several disappointing seconds n
one was forthcoming.
“The people of this country need no longer tolerate the grip of fear from radicalised groups determined to destroy our way of life. At six o’clock this morning a bomb exploded at the Tavistock Institute in Buckinghamshire.”
Shock and confusion gathered on the faces in the crowd. Byron, realising that his dramatic pause had come too early, hurriedly continued to remove their concern.
“Instead of destroying its intended target, it killed the bombers that tried to carry it out. One of our agents, who had been dispatched to the scene on my command, witnessed the explosion and was the first person on the scene. It seems from early indications that the bomb malfunctioned and went off in the terrorist’s vehicle.”
Byron paused again, believing that now the congregation was fully informed, applause would follow. A couple of journalists coughed. What did he have to do to get these people onside? They’d always had it in for him, whatever he did. If he’d had Britain’s ten most wanted criminals manacled to the desk they’d still have attacked him.
“Today I want to send a message to those willing to follow in these dead men’s shoes. If you attack us we will retaliate, if you scare us we will hold firm, if you try to destroy us your world will be dismantled, either by our hands or your own. I will not rest until every person can be secure in the knowledge that our values of peace and freedom are a reality, not just an aspiration. We will not rest until we have hunted you down.”
This was Byron at his most impressive, communicating to the masses, acting presidential. It was well known that Byron had little warmth or skill when it came to dealing with people one-on-one. People were drawn to Byron because of his ideals, aided by the fact that the opposition were acting like a fart in a trance. When the public had voted Byron and his party into power they were the best of a bad lot. My God, had he paid for it over the last four years. One of his responses to their attacks was to fuel the fire by being as belligerent and cantankerous as possible.
