Vortex

by Chris Ryan

  'Well,' Annie replied. 'That all depends on your rank, doesn't it?'

  The soldier's eyes narrowed. 'Flight lieutenant,' he said cautiously.

  'Right,' Annie smiled with satisfaction. 'Then he outranks you by four rungs.'

  The soldier looked like he was working that out in his head. 'Your dad's an air commodore?' he asked.

  'Yeah,' said Annie, 'and I think he'll have something to say about the way you treated Joseph, don't you?'

  But the flight lieutenant didn't seem to be listening. Instead he stood up and, keeping his free hand against the side of the truck to steady himself as they continued down the bumpy road, he knocked the butt of his rifle against the cab. Three times. A clear, measured signal, and the truck trundled to a halt. The three soldiers sat exchanging nervous glances while they waited for the two in the front to open the back.

  'What is it?' the soldier who seemed to be in charge asked impatiently.

  'The girl,' replied the flight lieutenant. 'She says her father's an air commodore.'

  The soldiers fell silent, clearly digesting this information. As they did, Ben found himself looking from face to face. When his gaze finally fell on the other soldier standing outside the truck, he blinked.

  He recognized that face. He had seen him somewhere before.

  'Change of plan,' the leader barked, interrupting Ben's thoughts. 'We'll take them to the doc.'

  The flight lieutenant looked troubled. 'The doc? Are you sure that's a good idea, sir.'

  'We haven't got any choice. He can decide what to do next. And this thing will be over in twenty-four hours, and by that time we'll all be out of the country.'

  'But, sir—'

  'It's an order, soldier,' the leader barked, and he slammed the back of the truck shut. From outside, Ben heard the leader talk to the soldier he recognized. 'Take us there,' he said. 'And make sure we're not followed.' Seconds later, they were moving again.

  'Where are we going?' Annie asked the soldiers. She was unable to hide the nervousness in her voice.

  The soldiers didn't answer – the arrogance seemed to have been kicked out of them by the curt words of their superior officer. Instead, they sat there quietly, exchanging the occasional nervous glance that did nothing for Ben's confidence in where all this was leading.

  As they travelled, Ben did his best to pay attention to the twists and turns of their route. Why he did so he couldn't have said. They were in the custody of armed RAF soldiers, so any thoughts they might have of trying to escape and weave their way back to the outskirts of the base would be pretty ill-advised. But there was something about these guys that didn't ring true. 'What did he mean?' He asked the question out loud, but it was more to himself than anything else.

  'Who?' the flight lieutenant said.

  'Back then, when he said you'd all be out of the country.'

  'Shut up,' he was told for the second time in the past few minutes.

  They endured about twenty minutes of uncomfortable driving. Ben and Annie looked at each other nervously, and then over at Joseph, who was simply staring impassively against the opposite wall. As they drove, Ben found himself remembering the stark warning the old man had given the previous night. 'Strange things going on at Spadeadam.'

  Too right, he thought to himself. Too right.

  They came to a sudden stop: the doors opened and the three soldiers jumped down. 'Get out,' the leader barked. Slowly, the handcuffed trio stood up and made their way down from the truck. The five soldiers were standing outside an old building – more of a shack really, made of wood stained dark with creosote. As they stood there brandishing their weapons, Ben sought out the face he recognized. There was no doubt about it – he had only caught a fleeting glimpse of the man, and even then from a distance, but he was absolutely sure he knew where he had seen him before. As if to confirm his suspicion, he saw that the man was carrying a rifle, unlike any of the other RAF soldiers he had seen.

  'Shot any rare birds lately?' he asked the soldier, one eyebrow raised in ironic questioning.

  The man's eyes narrowed. 'How—?' he started to say, but the commanding officer interrupted him.

  'Quiet, all of you.' He pointed at Joseph, Ben and Annie. 'You three, inside.'

  Ben gave the soldiers a disparaging look, and they were hustled through the door, which was closed and locked behind them.

  'This isn't right,' Annie let out explosively as soon as they were alone. 'They're up to something. They'd never—'

  'I know,' interrupted Ben sharply. And then, more soothingly, 'I know.'

  Annie breathed in deeply. 'You sure that was him – the one who shot the hen harrier?'

  'Positive,' Ben replied. 'Absolutely positive.'

  The shack was dark, the only source of light being a small window in the side that was covered in a thick layer of greasy dust. Joseph stood at the window, looking out emotionlessly. He did not seem even remotely bothered by the bruising on his face – it was as though he didn't even feel it. 'Joseph,' Ben said, trying to get his attention.

  The old man continued to stare out of the window.

  'Joseph,' Ben repeated. 'You have to listen to me. Do you remember when we spoke last night?'

  Slowly Joseph turned to look at him.

  'You told me it was obvious why someone had been shooting birds round here. It's to keep us away, isn't it? People like us, I mean. There's something going on here and they don't want anyone snooping around.'

  Joseph smiled at him, revealing his yellowing teeth. 'Well done, Ben,' he said quietly. 'It's good to see young minds working properly.' He turned to look back out of the window again. 'Wildlife was always a problem for them, even in the old days. Brought people to the area, you see. People like you. And the last thing they ever wanted was inquisitive minds lurking around, so they tried to keep the numbers of the rare animals down.'

  'That cellar,' Annie asked. 'What is it? You said you'd been looking for it. Why? Have you been there before?'

  'Oh, yes,' Joseph replied, his voice little more than a whisper. 'I've been there before. Many, many years ago. That was where it all started for me. Or should I say, where it all ended.'

  'What ended?'

  Joseph turned back to look at her.

  'My life,' he said.

  Ben felt a chill descend. A million questions poured into his head – there was so much more to this strange old man than he had previously thought – and he barely knew where to begin. But he didn't even get a chance, because at that moment he heard the door open.

  All three of them spun round nervously to see who was there.

  The man who filled the doorway was not dressed in combat fatigues; instead he wore a thin brown suit and a black tie. He was old, at least as old as Joseph – indeed he did not look dissimilar. His hair was balding, he had round glasses and a short, neatly trimmed grey beard and his skin was deeply lined. Under his eyes were huge black bags that would have looked odd on any other face, but somehow, Ben thought, suited the funereal features of this stern-looking individual.

  'Let us out of here!' he heard Annie demand.

  But the man merely flicked his hand in Annie's direction, as though swatting a fly. Instead, all his attention was focused on Joseph.

  And Joseph stared back. There were a thousand unsaid things in that one stare, and it lasted for a long, long time.

  The man took a step back and then turned to the soldier standing next to him. 'Take them over to the lab complex,' he said quietly. 'I'll head over there first while I decide what to do.' The soldier nodded, and shut the door, locking it behind him.

  In the shack all was quiet. Joseph was still staring at the door as if he hadn't even noticed that it had been closed. For a full minute he stood there while Ben and Annie watched and then, almost imperceptibly at first but with gradually increasing vigour, he started to tremble. 'Still here,' he muttered under his breath. 'Still here.' He shook his head and started to look out of the window yet again.

  A rushing
urgency filled Ben. Who was the man? Had Joseph recognized him? Could he shed some sort of light on what was going on here? For all his need to understand, however, he sensed that now, of all times, Joseph had to be dealt with sensitively. He could tell Annie felt the same – she was staring at the old man with wide eyes of sympathy.

  Ben approached Joseph and stood next to him. 'Are you all right, Joseph?' he asked.

  'Still here,' he muttered again. 'I'd never have thought that he'd still be here.'

  Ben swallowed nervously. 'Do you know him, Joseph?'

  The old man turned to look imperiously down at him, and for the first time Ben became aware of just how tall he was. 'Of course I know him, lad,' Joseph replied in a whisper.

  His eyes flicked towards the door once more, then back to Ben.

  'Of course I know him. His name is Doctor Lucian Sinclair. He's my brother.'

  Chapter Eleven

  As Joseph spoke, the door opened again. The flight lieutenant walked in, gun at the ready, followed by two of his colleagues. They each carried rough strips of cloth that looked as if they had just been hurriedly ripped from one of the soldier's articles of clothing.

  'Blindfold them,' the flight lieutenant said.

  'Don't you dare,' Annie started to say with fire in her voice. 'Give me my rucksack. I want my phone – I demand to make a phone call.'

  'Shut up,' the flight lieutenant growled, just as Ben felt himself being grabbed by one of the soldiers. He struggled, kicking his heel hard into the man's shin. His captor shouted out, but didn't let go. With his hands restrained by the cuffs and the fact that the RAF man was too strong for him, Ben soon had the rough cloth firmly tied around his eyes. As the blackness engulfed him, he sensed Annie scuffling ineffectually; Joseph, however, seemed to accept what was happening and was blindfolded without complaint.

  Once the blindfolds had been applied, Ben was hustled out of the shack and felt himself being pushed up into the truck yet again. The doors slammed shut and the vehicle started to move. It was difficult to tell in the darkness who else was in the truck with them, but he could only assume that the same three soldiers who had accompanied them before were there, so he knew he could not discuss escape plans or other theories in front of them. And so the trio kept quiet, disorientated by the blindfolds and the constant bumping of the truck over difficult roads. Before long it became clear to Ben that even if they managed to get away, it wouldn't make any difference: they would be totally lost.

  All sense of time seemed to be confused, so Ben had no idea how long they drove for. Finally, however, they came to an abrupt stop and once more they were manhandled off the truck.

  'Get them down there,' the voice of the leader said curtly.

  Someone pushed Ben from behind. 'Hey,' he complained as he stumbled forward. The moment he spoke, however, he felt someone deal him a crushing blow in the stomach. He doubled over, winded, falling to the ground, where he felt his knees rustle in a patch of fallen leaves.

  'Get up,' someone told him, and he was pulled gasping to his feet before being dragged through another door. 'Steps,' his aggressive companion murmured to him, and sure enough Ben found himself walking down a flight of stairs. For some reason – he didn't know why – he found himself counting them. Fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, twenty-six – they were going some way underground. He found himself praying that they wouldn't see any more rats down here.

  'Where are you taking us?' he demanded; but he was not favoured with a reply. Just another push that forced him down a narrow corridor – his uneven gait meant he occasionally brushed against the wall on either side, and he could tell that those walls were closer together than made him entirely comfortable. The corridor seemed to wind round erratically; occasionally they would take a left or a right turn. Ben felt as though he was in some kind of fiendish underground maze, and he knew he had no chance of getting back to the entrance unless he had a great deal of luck.

  Abruptly they came to a stop. There was the sound of somebody knocking on a door, and then of the door opening. They were pushed inside. 'Johnson,' a quiet voice said, 'you stay here. The rest of you, leave us.' There was a shuffling of feet as the soldiers left the room.

  Silence. A thick, meaningful silence that seemed to stick to them. And then the quiet voice spoke again.

  'You really should have stayed away, Joseph.'

  Ben heard Joseph take a deep breath. When he spoke, it was with a clarity that might not have been expected of him. 'Stayed away, Lucian? I rather think you should not have sent me away in the first place.'

  'It was for your own good,' Lucian replied sharply.

  A pause. 'My own good?' Joseph asked him, his voice calm. 'Or yours?'

  Lucian breathed out with a heavy snort. 'I wouldn't expect you to understand. Science requires a clear mind – not something you were ever blessed with.'

  Ben waited for a response from Joseph, but there was none.

  When Lucian spoke again, his voice had calmed. 'How convenient,' he almost purred, 'that you should turn up now of all times.'

  Ben sensed him walking thoughtfully among the silent trio.

  'All I need to know, Joseph, is what you have heard and who you have heard it from.'

  'You're as mistaken as you ever were, Lucian,' Joseph said, his voice cracking a bit. 'I don't know what it is that you've got going on here, and frankly I don't care. I came to Spadeadam to reassure myself that I've not been deceiving myself these last fifty years. I've done that beyond question, so why don't you just let us all go?'

  Lucian seemed to contemplate that for a moment. 'You never were a good liar, Joseph,' he commented finally. 'Who are your two friends? They're a little young for heroics, aren't they? It was stupid of you to bring them.'

  'He didn't!' Ben interrupted defiantly. 'We came here by ourselves.'

  He had barely finished speaking when he felt a hand at his face. With a sudden yank, the blindfold was ripped roughly from around his head, and Ben was face to face with Joseph's brother, able to look at him properly. He still wore the same thin brown suit as when they had first seen him, but it was his bespectacled face that interested Ben. Now he knew that Lucian and Joseph were brothers, he could see the resemblance. There was not the same hooked nose or floppy hair, but something around the mouth was similar, as were the eyes – now half closed in an expression of the deepest mistrust. 'You must think I'm stupid, you idiot child,' he hissed. 'But let me tell you this. I've been working on Vortex for nearly as long as you've been alive, and if you think I'm going to let you three interfere with it now, then you've got another think coming. It will be delivered tomorrow, there will be no trace of its development here and the few of us who know about it will be on a plane out of the country with enough money to fade into obscurity.'

  He strode up to Annie, removed her blindfold, and then did the same to Joseph. It was to his brother that he spoke next. 'History will not remember the name of the person who bestowed this gift upon it,' he said, 'but that does not matter. I am willing to sacrifice my own fame for the greater good.'

  Joseph looked flatly at him. 'For the greater good, Lucian? It strikes me that I've heard you say that once before, a long time ago.'

  Lucian's lip curled. 'You never did understand, Joseph.' He turned to the flight lieutenant. 'We need to keep them out of the way until tomorrow and make sure that none of our colleagues' – he spoke the word with a certain amount of distaste – 'above ground start asking questions about them. You're sure we picked them up before their presence was noticed? And no one saw you move them in or out of the truck earlier?'

  'We're sure,' Johnson replied.

  'Good,' Lucian replied. He turned to look back at the trio. 'Flight Lieutenant Johnson will accompany you to a secure unit while I decide exactly what to do with you.' He stared directly at Joseph. 'Take a good look at my face, brother,' he said quietly. 'It's the last time you'll ever see it.'

  Joseph stared back at him, gazing into his brother's eyes, his own face u
nreadable. 'Shall we go, Flight Lieutenant?' he asked gently. He did not see Lucian nod his approval, because he was resolutely looking the other way.

  Lieutenant Colonel Oleg Kasparov of the Russian army watched the sun setting over the Spadeadam marshland. The insects had descended in force as dusk arrived, and a bite on his left hand irritated him, but he neither scratched it nor complained. Beside him in the back of the car was his host for the duration of his visit, a pleasant and enthusiastic wing commander by the name of Stevens who had no idea that Kasparov's official visit to Spadeadam was nothing more than a front for some very unofficial business. And now that his two aides had been dismissed, he could get on with that business.

  'It's great to have you here, Lieutenant Colonel,' he was saying politely. 'Good to be able to show you guys round what we do here after so many years of cold war.'

  Kasparov nodded abruptly. 'The Russian army is grateful to you for your hospitality.' He did his best to hide a rare smile. This enthusiastic British officer could never guess that the gratitude of the Russian military was the furthest thing from his mind. He had a new paymaster now, and an ulterior motive for being at the RAF base at that time. If he made sure everything ran smoothly, the Russian oligarch from whom he now took his orders would make him rich – rich enough to leave the army and never work again.

  The car pulled to a halt outside a row of modern brick buildings. 'These will be your lodgings,' Stevens said as the driver walked round and opened the door for Kasparov. 'I trust you'll find them comfortable.'

  'I'm sure I will,' Kasparov replied, shaking Stevens's outstretched hand, then hauling his large-framed body out of the car and picking up the bag that the driver had fetched from the boot. 'Until tomorrow morning, Wing Commander.'

  'Tomorrow morning,' Stevens replied, and the car drove off.

  Kasparov walked up to the door of his lodgings and stepped inside. He barely noticed the clean, comfortable surroundings; he simply dropped the bag in the hallway and pulled his mobile phone from the pocket of his military jacket, then dialled the number he had been given.