‘Yes, sir, but I would bring to your—’
‘You’ve had numerous opportunities to bring much to my attention. It boggles the mind why you have yet to report the severity of the situation.’
‘We can handle it.’ Peterson searched for allies around the room. Everyone ignored him. A sinking ship about to be abandoned before all hands went down.
‘I don’t think so. For all intents and purposes, the DSD mission in Aberdeen is terminated as of now. The complete lack of structured strategy in dealing with this outbreak has put lives in danger. Several operatives have succumbed to the infection. A fundamental failing at the top tier of management. The Prime Minister and Government are being briefed and a national statement will be posted this evening. It has been deemed necessary to bring the situation into the public domain.’
Peterson stood from his chair. ‘This is unnecessary. Given the right resources we can be on top of this problem in twenty-four hours.’
‘You should have requested the right resources before today, so sit down. You’ll be lucky if you escape criminal charges for this debacle. As for the rest of you, some will remain in Aberdeen, some will be sent elsewhere. Dr. Holden, you’ll receive an email with the details. You can prep those who are to leave. Be ready within the hour.’
The screen went blank. More than one person smiled, and none was Peterson.
‘That went better than expected,’ Dr. Holden mumbled, a little too loud.
‘You mongrel!’ Peterson shook a fist. ‘You couldn’t just keep quiet and come to me with your concerns, could you? You had to ruin me in the process.’
‘To the contrary. I did come to you, and more than once, and things continued to grow beyond our control. If I didn’t speak up, the blood of hundreds, even more, would be on my hands. I told you over and again you were underestimating this outbreak.’
‘You’ve ruined everything.’
Solomon stepped before Peterson. ‘If you want to pick a fight,’ he pushed Peterson in the chest, ‘then fight me. I called the Director in London and I was not alone. So take your shot, but be warned, I’ll gladly break your nose if you do.’
‘You’ll regret this, you turncoat.’ Peterson stormed from the room.
***
Magarth badgered Dr. Holden like an eager child.
‘Is my name there?’
Dr. Holden clicked away with the mouse.
‘Am I on the list to stay or not?’
‘No matter what this list says, you’re going home.’
‘What?’
‘You’re going home.’
‘You’re serious?’
‘I’ll make sure of it. What you went through should never have happened. You’ll be home for Christmas. The response teams will remain for the most part.’
‘So what about the infected in the tank?’
Dr. Holden clapped Magarth on the back. ‘That isn’t your worry. Go and pack your things.’
***
Samuel Peterson flicked the latch on his office door. The heavy musk of body odour hung in the air, a testament to the hours he had spent there, and for what? What would he achieve? What would come from his effort, his dedication? To be stabbed in the back.
With a sweeping motion, he levelled the towers of files and reports. His mind raced over the video conference.
This wasn’t supposed to happen!
The phone rang.
‘Yes,’ he blurted.
‘Samuel Peterson?’
‘Mr. Toth?’
‘Correct. It would seem that things are moving faster than we’d anticipated. Do you still have the USB stick?’
Peterson rummaged through his pockets. ‘Of course I do.’
‘It’s time to put our contingency plan into action. Now listen carefully.’
***
The control room on the top floor, usually a hive of activity, sat silent. Since operations had been suspended, there was little need for the control hub to be manned. Dr. Holden thought it a decrepit stillness. He did his best to remain good-natured. It was not that he was without compassion. Far from it. He wanted to help Magarth as much as possible. He had been through quite an ordeal after all. Yet, it struck Dr. Holden that he had no concept of responsibility. Since he had spoken openly, since he had taken him into his confidence, since he had promised home, Magarth demanded more and more. A spoilt child wanting and wanting.
‘You don’t seem happy we’re leaving,’ said Magarth.
‘This is still a very real threat.’ Dr. Holden took a seat in a nearby chair. ‘You of all people should realise after what happened to you. Are you sure you’re packed?’
‘Yes. There wasn’t much. Oh, that reminds me.’ Magarth pulled a taser from his rucksack. ‘What do you want me to do with this?’
‘First thing, don’t point it at me. Second, keep it for now. I’m sure someone will be allocated the job of securing assets. I had better go pack.’
‘Do you need any help?’
‘No, Tim. I don’t think I do. Excuse me.’
Dr. Holden managed only three steps when Solomon filled the doorway, his skin glistening with sweat.
‘Sorry to interrupt, but there are people here to see you.’
A man and a woman stepped into the room. He wore a dark suit and white shirt, looking every part a fictional government agent, and she had very short auburn hair, purple-rimmed reading glasses, dressed in the female equivalent. Both seemed unable to crack a smile.
A hand was offered. ‘Dr. Holden, I presume?’
‘Yes, and you would be?’
The gentleman looked down his nose at Dr. Holden’s grip. ‘Robert Lenman. We’ve been sent from London. Have all staff meet in the reception area.’
There was an air of indulgent superiority about this man that Dr. Holden disliked instantly. He breezed past, inspecting the control room, his words scribbled into a notebook by his female companion. She followed like an obedient dog.
‘Turned up along with fifty others,’ Solomon muttered. ‘I didn’t recognise any of them, and that’s for sure. I don’t think they’re with the DSD.’
‘No,’ said Dr. Holden, staring after them, ‘I don’t think so either.’
‘I’ll make the announcement,’ Solomon told him.
‘Come on, Tim,’ said Dr. Holden, ‘we’d better go to reception … just as Mr. Lenman requests.’
***
The forty-four people to be redeployed waited in reception. Dr. Holden noticed they were mostly data analysts and administration staff. From amongst the throng, someone called Dr. Holden’s name. A raised hand waved and drew his attention.
‘Dr. Holden,’ the airman called again, ‘I need you to go through the check list and make sure everyone is here for the uplift.’
‘Yes, of course. Tell me, how we are to be transported out? I don’t suppose it will be buses?’
‘No, sir. An airlift. Were you not informed?’
‘No,’ gasped Magarth. He rummaged through his bag. ‘My wedding ring … and the ultrasound image. Must have left them in my locker.’
‘How much time before we depart?’ Dr. Holden asked the airman.
‘Thirty minutes.’
‘You have time, Tim.’
‘You sure?’
‘Thirty minutes,’ the airman repeated.
‘Back in five,’ announced Magarth from over his shoulder.
***
Contrary to what Magarth expected the corridors were not deserted. New faces patrolled. He bumped heavily into a woman exiting the doctor’s room. Files fell from her hands and scattered across the floor. Were they the doctor’s files? Her files? What was she doing here if the doctor and other scientists were told to leave?
‘Oh dear,’ she apologised.
‘It’s fine,’ Magarth said in a rush. He crouched to sweep the papers into a pile. ‘You’re taking over here?’
‘That’s right. DSD Agents, and you are?’
‘Magarth, Tim. I’m heading home. I
wasn’t an agent, but I still got to see … well, everything.’
‘Been quite tough, I’ve heard.’
She had a kindly voice. Serene. A strange quality in this place. She reminded him very much of his Maria. His Maria, kind and loving, and waiting at home for his return, and he’d be home soon.
‘You could say that. Have you been here long?’
‘New. Need to catch up to speed on what’s been going on.’
‘Hell. That’s one word.’
‘Then best I do a bit of reading, hey?’ She nodded to the retrieved reports. ‘See if we can send hell back to hell.’
‘Good luck.’
‘You, too, Magarth, Tim.’
She even smiled like Maria.
‘Aren’t you going the wrong way?’
‘Forgot a few things.’
‘You’ll need to take the long way then. We’ve blocked the corridor.’
***
Only two on the list were absent. Peterson, who Dr. Holden suspected was still locked away in his office, no doubt still trying to hold the reins of power for a little longer, and Magarth who would be returning soon. Five minutes, he had said.
‘Alright, people. Let’s move out,’ the airman announced. ‘Follow me and stay together.’
‘Wait,’ insisted Dr. Holden, ‘we’re missing two passengers.’
‘We have to go. Severe weather front moving in.’
‘We cannot leave without them.’
‘We have a supply bird due in thirty minutes. They can get out then.’
‘Is there no alternative?’
‘Afraid not, sir. I’ll tell the receptionist to inform …’
‘Tim Magarth and Samuel Peterson,’ supplied Dr. Holden.
‘Magarth and Peterson to be at the LZ in half an hour.’
The airman moved the group out.
Magarth would be fine. He’d get out on the supply bird, but the doctor wondered what would happen to Peterson. He was sure the insidious man brought everything upon himself.
Automatic doors opened with a whoosh. The chill swallowed them up. Dr. Holden pulled his medical coat tight as they set off towards the hospital’s landing pad. It did little to help. A five minute walk usually, but the ferocious weather would extend that time. Beneath their feet lay an inch or more of snow.
***
The panic was instant. The empty waiting area. No fellow travellers waiting for evacuation. Magarth rushed to a large window. Nothing but a whiteout.
Dr. Holden wouldn’t leave without me! Would he?
‘Magarth?’ a timid voice called out.
‘Where are they? I should be with them.’
‘They left.’
‘They can’t leave without me!’
‘The helicopter will be in the air shortly, but they left instructions for you. You are to be at the landing pad in thirty minutes where another helicopter will be waiting.’
Magarth considered venturing out, chasing the group, chasing their escape, but he knew … thirty minutes, then all this would be over. You can do it! Keep calm. He dropped into a seat, twirled his wedding ring. Thirty minutes. I’m coming home, Maria. I’m coming home.
***
A black Chinook helicopter dwarfed the landing pad. Its twin rotors sent waves of snow in every direction. The rear-loading ramp was lowered.
The airman shouted over the din of the engines as they drew close. ‘Single file. Take your seats and buckle up. Use the earplugs on the seats.’
‘Are you with the DSD?’ Dr. Holden shouted to the airman.
‘Black Aquila.’
‘What is that? Black Aquila?’
‘Private security.’
The airman saw to the raising of the rear ramp. Shudders sounded from the chassis. The Chinook lifted from the ground. Dr. Holden searched for something fixed to grasp as the winter winds toyed with the aircraft. He wanted to ask the airman where they were heading. That would have to wait. For now, his concentration was otherwise busy retaining the contents of his stomach.
***
Martin’s funeral brought a good measure of perspective, and Friday morning brought Eric a sense of rebirth. The strength that Lisa had shown gave him the resolve to save himself, and his family.
Eric rolled from bed, pleased to find his past aches now dulled. The house was silent. If Jacqui was home, she was being unusually quiet. He went from room to room, much like a strategic exercise to seek and locate. Nothing. She was gone. Probably to her mum’s.
There was only two hours until his psychiatrist appointment, the last hoop to jump through for the company.
He dressed. Today would be the first day of driving since his return to Britain. The company had offered a car and a driver, but he refused. Normal activities would do him good, much like the breakfast he had just scoffed down, despite the protests of his grumbling stomach, a hole which was still used to little food and little-quality food. Now, freshly dressed, healthy cereal, keys in hand, here was the opportunity once again to be the master of himself.
***
Finding the office proved to be a less arduous task than Eric thought. He jabbed a finger at the doorbell and waited.
‘Look up to the camera, please,’ came a female voice through an intercom.
He did.
‘Thank you, Mr. Mann.’
A low drone sounded from the door, and Eric stepped inside.
A young attractive blonde with way too much make-up approached. ‘Mr .Mann. I’m Angela. If you will follow me, you will be seen presently.’ She turned with the grace of a ballerina, a feat made more impressive by the considerable heels on her feet. With a rhythmic clip-clop, she walked at a brisk pace. Eric admired the shape of her legs, all the way up to her rear.
A spacious waiting room opened before them. It was opulent, almost to excess. Leather couches and designer glass tables. A large TV mounted on the wall showed the news, muted. There were potted plants and flowers arranged in such perfect pose Eric wondered if they were fake. The floral scent told him otherwise. An older man with thinning, grey hair, sat on a sofa, his arms spread wide as he studied a financial broadsheet.
‘Tea? Coffee? A soft drink, Mr. Mann?’ asked Angela.
‘Tea. White.’
‘Make yourself comfortable.’
Eric sank into the welcoming leather. A time passed and Angela returned with a cup balanced on a matching saucer.
‘They treat you good here,’ the older man said, folding away his newspaper. He crossed his legs and lifted a cup to his lips. ‘Best tea I’ve tasted.’
‘Not bad,’ Eric responded flatly.
‘You’ll be before me I should think, but I’m happy to wait. Not long arrived myself.’
‘Dr. Ironside will see you now,’ said Angela.
The office of Dr. Oliver Ironside was large, far larger than the modest frontage of the building suggested. It was like stepping into the study of a period mansion. If modern appliances were present, they were well hidden. Dr. Ironside stood from his chair and smiled in greeting. He was far younger than expected and sported a dark ponytail. Stubble darkened his angular face and he wore a black shirt with the sleeves rolled high to show his forearms. There was a pen nestled in a fold. He took hold of Eric’s outstretched hand.
‘Mr. Mann, I’m Dr. Oliver Ironside. Please.’
He directed Eric to a chair in front of his desk and then surprised him by pulling a chair to sit close by.
‘Let me begin by saying that whatever we discuss in this room will remain in this room. Whether our sessions together last a week or several months, I want you to think of this place as sanctuary, free of judgement.’
A strained silence followed.
‘Is something wrong, Eric? You don’t mind me using your first name, do you?’
‘I never thought I would be in a place like this.’
‘I can guarantee that everyone who said that to me has left feeling better. I’m Oliver, if you would prefer to use my first name.’
&
nbsp; ‘You’re young. Real young.’
‘And that bothers you?’
‘I suppose not.’
‘Don’t let the ponytail trick you, and, I have good genes. I’ll take your initial concern as a compliment.’
Eric shrugged.
‘Let’s begin. Treat this the same as the usual psychologist visits at Black Aquila when you return from operations. We simply like to make sure everything is clicking away properly up here.’ He tapped at his temple. ‘After your unfortunate circumstances, management wanted you to undergo a deeper analysis.’
‘Unfortunate circumstances?’
‘Yes, well. So here you are with a psychiatrist rather than a psychologist.’
Eric was stuck. He didn’t want to be here, but here he was. So, he thought, he might as well get things rolling. ‘There’s a lot going on with me. A lot I don’t understand. A lot I feel like I can’t control.’
‘You don’t have to be a psychiatrist to know that one doesn’t walk away from these things unscathed.’
‘I guess not.’
‘Why don’t you tell me about the things that you don’t understand, things that you feel you can’t control.’
‘It’s difficult to function with my wife, my kids. People. I lash out. Throw accusations around. I’ve not been kind to Jacqui.’
Ironside scribbled down notes. ‘I understand you lost a close friend in Iraq. Shall we talk about that?’
Eric leaned back in his seat. ‘No.’
‘Does it bring pain?’
‘I’m not talking about that.’
‘We need to explore these feelings, Eric.’
‘I don’t want to.’ He’d talk about his marriage, his kids, his brother, his dark hours, his drinking, but not Martin.
‘It’s the only way for you to regain control of your life. Talking about these issues will empower you to make correct choices and decisions. Martin was a very close friend of yours, am I right?’
This doc was insistent, a little too much. ‘Aren’t you supposed to let this stuff come out when I’m ready?’
Carrion Virus (Book 1): Carrion City Page 11
