by Tyler Danann
“I’ll get us inside first. Her house is in a semi-detached area, but too many twitching curtains and nosey neighbors I suspect.”
“We could do it at the college?”
“I’m in my thirties so I’m a bit old to be blending in there mate.”
“The carpark then?” Knight suggested sharply.
“No way, my face is too well known and there’s too many eyeballs and cameras. Listen mate, I make the plan and it’s her home we do it at. The college is on the other side of Warwick and far from the nearest motorway or A-road.”
“Alright. So we lay low then move in together on her home when she gets back from College?”
“That’s what I want to go with. Remember, her mum knows the danger, but she can’t call her daughter or leave Albion to get her as they’re expecting that. The Ministry could even be onto the girl too.”
“Is that why you insisted on the extra weaponry and body armor?”
“Yep, our friends in high places have some experimental kit to try out.”
“Are they those Sabre Batons? Garenby was saying they generate a real wallop compared to the police-issued ones.”
“That’s right, there’s a fierce charge-field given off by it on impact, not sure how it works internally but kinetics seem to activate it. I hope it doesn’t come to that as all bets are off if we have to fight our way out, especially with a VIP in tow.”
“We don’t want a ferry terminal shootout right?” Knight said with a ‘trying-to-be-funny’ grin.
Weyland glared at him and shook his head.
“Sorry Eric, just having a craic.”
“Yeah well, I have a feeling this mission isn’t going to be straightforward. It could well be we’ve got company that want’s Yeoman blood. Be aware and don’t drop your guard.”
The next morning it was the day of the apology. The dim sun dawned to typically northern, gloomy weather. Valerie Beaumont woke-up an hour before college was due to begin with a daunting feeling. Her mother had unexpectedly delayed her return to Warwick blaming a heavy workload. Having no car of her own meant she had to walk to the bus-stop and from there to college.
Not a hundred miles south the weather was not much different in the rural fields of Wiltshire. The Chief Director of the Defense Science and Technology facility had arrived at the vast base early. Harold Chambers had been in charge of the Porton Down facility for two years and always liked to set an example. Every working day he passed the memorial dedicated to his predecessor, Mark Fuller.
The short, slightly built man with reddish cheeks got out of his green Jaguar XJ12 sports car and beheld his workplace. The main administrative buildings were mostly red-brick colored and of a protruding, symmetrical architecture. At only two or three stories high Porton Down’s buildings were not tall, but they sprawled out like a neat jigsaw puzzle. The car park was only a short way from the circular forest-feature that stood before the white-brick entrance. Moving at his usual waddling gait the Director approached the entrance area.
The security guard and military detachment greeted Chambers as he passed through the sandbagged barricades. Somewhere around the base a four-man patrol was wandering randomly for any threats, intruders or curious outsiders. There had been no fighting at Porton Down during the civil war but the Land Ministry insisted on it being fully manned and defended all the same.
Entering his office he took off his jacket and put it on the hook a phone-call from his secretary.
“High Commissioner Roberts sends word that he’s on his way Harry, he says it’s urgent to speak with you in person.”
“Very well, let me know when he arrives,” Chambers responded with an exhale of breath.
Opening a desk draw he took out a small bottle of Scottish whiskey and poured himself a glass. The Director was a borderline alcoholic and well aware of how dangerous the Commissioner was. More importantly, Chambers was well aware of what the reason of his visit could be. He unlocked and opened a filing cabinet to withdraw a red-colored folder from within it. Opening the file he took a deep drink of the alcohol and shook his head in dismay before replacing it in the cabinet.
Within an hour the man had arrived and with him were a cavalcade of bodyguards and advisors. Most stayed with the vehicular convoy but Roberts and his two bodyguards went in with him.
Once outside his office the two guards waited in the corridor and Commissioner Roberts entered, taking a chair opposite him.
“Good morning Director,” he spoke with serpentine intentions.
“What can I do for you Commissioner?” Chambers asked innocently.
“It concerns the genetic research began by your illustrious predecessor Director Fuller.”
“Oh,” Chambers said with an air of bewilderment. “What research would that be?”
“Operation Wormwood.”
“Operation Wormwood?” Chambers pondered, playing ignorant.
“It concerns the use of specialized NBC weaponry against our enemies. You do understand the importance of this with the current situation?”
“I do, yet is it of any relevance though? Chemical and bio-weaponry are practically outlawed nowadays. Even strategic nuclear weapons are loathed but tolerated.”
“Hah! You as Director should know we are above such moralizing nonsense. I will jog your memory, Wormwood was intended to target Russian and Eurasian genetics.”
“At the end of the Cold War research was halted. It was never seriously considered for battlefield delivery due to the Soviet’s not having an equivalent, besides the ethical morality of it.”
“Ethical morality? For a bioweapons director you have a strange mindset Director.”
“Since my appointment Porton Down has been mostly focused on common cold research and influenza prevention.”
“I’ll be blunt with you Mr Chambers, all current research activity and development is to cease while instead Operation Wormwood is to be re-activated and heavily invested in.”
“Commissioner Roberts, our leaders have signed treaties and agreements never to deploy weaponized—”
“Don’t give me that legalize nonsense,” he interrupted smoothly. “We are permitted to do whatever we want for defensive purposes. Research is research.” He grinned like a snake and drew out a folded piece of paper from the inside of his suit. “How quickly can you develop a genetic bio-weapon targeting these specific genetic haplotypes to the following specifications?”
Roberts passed the paper over to Chambers who began reading it. The shadow-leader continued talking.
“I want versions that linger and also disperse quickly. Assault troops need it to disperse rapidly for taking enemy positions. For areas of distant attacking like headquarters and the like the version needs to be a lingering one. Ideally the nerve-agent should be antropine resistant.”
Chambers went several shades paler on absorbing the chilling data. The code lettering R1b was highlighted several times in red lettering. To a lesser-extent R1a was also included.
“Commissioner, these are purely European markers.”
“Did you expect it to be non-European? Our biggest threat is Albion, in case it escaped your notice these are pure European people.”
“Yes but we’d be targeting our own people, civilians and soldier alike with chemical weapons. Commissioner isn’t that a line too far?”
“Our own people? Our enemies Director, our enemies. It’s unfortunate it’s come to this,” Roberts said matter-of-factly, “but if war does break out against Albion, all options must be on the table.”
“Well yes but, population centers being manned by Yeomanry troops could be struck, civilian deaths would be horrendous! We’d be a pariah to the international community.”
“Leave the military deployment to the military Director. Media-relations and diplomacy are my world not yours,” Roberts said sternly, his hooded eyed like gimlets. “So just do your job and get on with this.”
“Of course, of course,” stammered the Director.
&nbs
p; “Now, how soon would a prototype be ready for military trials?”
“I don’t know Commissioner, about a year? Possibly less if we scale-up with EU funding?”
“You have three months, I can authorize human-testing to speed things along, army volunteers, prisoners and the like should do.” Roberts said it all without emotion and not unlike someone placing a shopping order.
“I’ll pass the word down Commissioner. It’ll take at least a week to get our other work mothballed.”
“Good, oh and I expect progress reports to be filed every week. The Land Ministry’s Research Division will be following your progress very closely. It’s all in the paperwork I gave you.”
The Commissioner got up to leave and called in Cordell Mastock. Taking a thin package from him he placed it on Chamber’s desk.
“For your predecessor’s memorial plaque,” Roberts grinned before departing the office. Looking inside the package Chambers saw a single blackthorn flower.
The Director’s heart raced and he opened his drawer to pour out a large draught of liquor. Getting up he went over to the window and watched as the Commissioner entered his Rolls Royce Phantom.
Part of Harold Chambers despised Commissioner Roberts. Genetic warfare was a new low for the corrupt and sociopathic Land Ministry. Was that not to be expected though? Chambers knew Fuller’s death was almost certainly murder and not suicide as the coroner declared. Yet he was powerless to do anything and the Commissioner knew it. His memorial was no heartfelt gesture to his old mentor, it was a warning and the Blackthorn flower served as a reminder to obey and provide.
The Land Ministry convoy had pulled away towards the distant gateway now and Chambers summoned his research team leaders. After an hour of hammering out the close-down and mothballing of current research, it took another hour to work out the preliminary details for the genetic weapon. Finally by lunch-time the office was his again and he relaxed once more.
Chambers suspected what the endgame for Albion was and he didn’t like it. Yet as with many good men in bad positions, he was almost entranced with a spectators view. If he resigned his position another would be found to take it and with it went his wealth, house and high-station. The company relocation package and emergency refuge would be soon found for another. He had a wife and three children, two of which were in an exclusive private school. There were undoubtedly Land Ministry informants at Porton Down, it was possible even his phone and computer were bugged. His mind was his at least but even that had its own demons to contend with. Resignedly Director Chambers poured himself the last of the bottle into the glass, and let the alcohol numb his roaring conscience.
Valerie walked with her friend from the college laughing.
“I can’t believe you said it! You laid into the whole rotten establishment!”
“I know! I was applauded by half of the audience!”
“What are we going to do now? Is surely going to expel both of us for this?”
“I don’t care for him or that college, I’ll call my mum and see about getting a visa for Albion, it shouldn’t be too difficult, she works with the Albion Nursing Service. You could be sponsored too, getting a visa is quite easy.”
“I never fancied myself as a nurse Val.”
“Then join the Labor Service, they allocate jobs people are suited to, you don’t need silly qualifications that expire or have to pay for either. They take care of training and everything.”
“Won’t they suspect us as spies or something?”
“My mum tells me the detection systems are a wonder, as long as you’re honest you’ll be fine Nicola.”
The two girls almost didn’t notice the large group trailing them led by Omar. One of them scuffed his feet on a ruined paving stone giving Nicola reason to turn.
“Valerie run!” her friend said chillingly, grabbing her arm briefly.
Together they ran, but they were nearly a mile from any built-up area and few places were around to try and escape into. Both girls, while not unfit, were tiring and neither wore running foot-ware. A construction site lay ahead with several builders and workmen inside.
“In here!” Valerie said and both rushed in.
The building site was only just being started though. There were plentiful materials scattered about but no buildings whatsoever, not even a portacabin. A wasteland beyond the site overgrown with shrubs was the only cover. Beyond that was a car park and from afar opposite the college seemed to overlook them distantly.
Both girls pleaded with the startled workers as the gang closed in.
Omar was almost demonic with rage. The girls had humiliated him and now thought they could get help. By the time they’d closed the distance the two English girls had new allies. His cohorts began to falter as the workers immediately stood in front of the girls. They faced the gang of ten with tools raised.
The Arab youth who led them was not deterred though and reached for his wealthy father’s section 5 revolver. It was a small .38 Smith and Wesson and would suffice for what he had in mind. He drew it out and threatened the men. Three of the construction folk faltered and ran off to raise the alarm but one, a firm-hearted Geordie laborer stood his ground.
Omar did not hesitate and shot the man dead with three quick shots. Both Valerie and Nicola were rooted to the spot by the violence. The dying man next to them was stood up one moment and down like a stone the next.
“You’ll be next if you don’t do as I say!” he said, waving the gun at the girls.
In her mind’s eye Valerie saw herself in Iraq where her father had been killed. Angry Iraqi insurgents who’d infiltrated a village and whipped up a mob were replaced by Omar and his crew. Smart designer clothes clad the men who fanned out. Apart from one tag-along lad from a nameless council estate the rest were foreign. They spoke words but she barely heard them. Her friend tugged at her arm.
“Didn’t you just hear me? Get your clothes off!” the angry one said. “I want to humiliate you like you humiliated us! Racist bitches like you need to be trained on how things are gonna be!”
Nicola’s courage to move acted and she withdrew deeper into the building site. Two of Omar’s crew wanted to follow but he called them back with a yell.
“Let her run! We’ll get her another day. For now we’ll play with this one. She can watch!”
“Lie down on the floor!” Jesse Young repeated.
But Valerie could not, she merely slid down onto her haunches and made herself into a tight, crouching ball. She did not consciously do it, but merely acted on some ancient instinct that came to her. Her arms and hands were raised against the sides of her head, resembling someone sheltering from artillery fire or a disaster-threat.
With her back to a pallet of bricks she became catatonic to the demands of her abusers. Omar had raped before but was slightly taken aback by the woman’s actions. He needed her spread-eagled to take his rapacious brutality out on her. Yet curled up like a rock while clothed was a major obstacle.
One of his crew burst out laughing. “Do we carry her away back to the college?” the lad joked.
“Shut the fuck up!” Omar scowled giving him a brief but demonic glare. “I’ll beat the bitch into what we want!”
Taking his revolver he clubbed the girl several times. The weapon was tiny though and still Valerie defiantly held to her posture. Taking the gun by its barrel he struck again with the blunt sights as a crude cudgel. This time a faint whimper of pain came from the girl, causing her to move slightly. Yet crouched as an impenetrable ball she remained.
As Valerie endured more blows from the pistol whipping her friend watched agonizingly from behind a stack of cinder blocks. Nicola was part-Irish and was drawn to do what her ancient kin had done.
A brick came flying from nowhere aimed at Omar. It missed him by several inches but struck an arrogant Nigerian gang member in the neck. The house brick had been hurled as hard as Nicola could manage and it crushed the windpipe of the youth. He went down and struggled to breathe as a
nother brick sailed towards the group of ten. This too was a direct hit as a skull fractured on impact. The Irish were renowned skirmishers and ambushers, even up to the tragic Troubles of the previous decades. In some quasi-relevant way Nicola felt a strange joy at seeing her enemies fall and redoubled her efforts.
As a clueless Eurasian tag-along fell to the ground she dodged a stone thrown back by a flanking ganger. In response her own brick struck his ankle, sending the Arab to the floor howling and crying out.
Omar caught a glimpse of the other girl now. He turned from the battered blonde and fired at the elusive one. His shot missed by an inch but blew fragments of a nearby breeze block into her face, stunning her momentarily.
A nimble lad called Ali from North Africa rushed over, keen to capitalize. Before Nicola could recover the fast opponent had her seized and two more joined him. Try as Nicola might the trio were all over her and in a heap she went down to the ground. Jesse Young moved in and reached down. First he threw Ali aside then the other two.
“I’m first!” he declared, wanting the girl fresh before having to pass her on.
Nicola had some breathing space as the new adversary was distracted, she scrambled away on her back like a crab. The big black youth closed in though. Espying a long-handled spade lying nearby she hurled it along the ground, hoping to strike Jesse Young’s legs. He preempted the move though and jumped up before diving down on top of her, crushing the wind out of her.
“You’re a sly little cunt,” he said lustily throwing the spade aside. Young easily weighed a hundred pounds more than her and Nicola knew there was no escape this time.
From the waste ground two men raced across to the building site. Weyland had watched the scene from an elevated vantage point. Earlier both he and Knight expected Valerie and Nicola to catch the bus together and go their separate ways. From there they could tail Valerie back to her house and make the move.
Omar and his gang changed everything. When the two girls had fled to the building site he’d hoped the gang would have lost interest and dispersed. The gunshot from Omar raised the stakes and without saying a word they both moved in.
