by Chris Ryan
Ben and Annie remained quiet, not knowing what to say.
The old man continued. 'Lucian knew that I would not approve of what was going on, but it was clear what he was threatening me with.'
Annie's eyes were glassy now, as though she were fighting back tears. 'But he's your brother,' she whispered.
Joseph nodded.
'What did you do?' Ben asked.
It took a while for Joseph to reply, as though he were reliving the events that followed next. When he finally spoke, it was in a slow, measured tone of voice. 'Scientists have a duty,' he said firmly. 'A morality. Just because we can do something, it doesn't mean that we should.' He looked sharply at Ben and Annie. 'I went to Lucian. I begged him to stop doing what he was doing. And when he refused, I told him that I was going to blow the whistle on his activities.'
Silence.
'He said I was naïve. Thinking back, he was probably right. I have no doubt that their experiments were being carried out with the full knowledge of the British intelligence services, and any attempts I made to reveal them would have been firmly stamped on. But I had to do something, and so I stood firm and insisted that I would go to the authorities.'
'But you never did, did you?' asked Ben, his voice little more than a whisper.
Joseph smiled sadly and shook his head. 'They came for me just before morning – Lucian and his colleague, his boss really, who specialized in chemical mind control. They bundled me into the back of a military vehicle and took me to an underground bunker they had reserved for such purposes. My brother stood by as I was injected with lysergic acid diethylamide – LSD to most people – and then imprisoned in a cell much like this one. I received the same treatment, daily, for a long time. I don't know how long, but a long time.'
Joseph stopped. His face was white and his hands were trembling with the horror of that memory. Ben watched as Annie stretched out her arm and placed it consolingly on the old man's leg.
'LSD gives you hallucinations – hours and hours of hallucinations, many of them totally terrifying. When they set me free, I was a mess,' he told them quietly. 'I was not fit to cope in society, and it wasn't long before I was placed in an institution for the insane. I tried to tell them what had happened to me, but of course nobody believed me. And that had been Lucian's plan all along.' Joseph winced slightly. 'In those days, mental institutions were not what they are today. I should know – I've seen enough of them over the past fifty years.'
'Fifty years?' Annie said disbelievingly. 'Is that how long you've been in institutions?'
Joseph nodded. 'Yes,' he said simply.
'And the place with the rats,' Ben asked him gently. 'The place we've just been. That was where—'
'That was where they gave me the injections,' Joseph finished his sentence for him. 'And that was why I had to come back. For fifty years they've been telling me that my memories are the figments of a paranoid imagination. I had to see the place once more just to prove to myself that they weren't.'
Annie was still staring at the old man. 'Fifty years,' she repeated. 'Fifty years in institutions, and you're not even mad.'
Joseph blinked. Then he smiled. He turned his bloodshot eyes to look at Annie. He stared at her for a full thirty seconds, and she winced under the force of that terrible gaze. Finally the old man spoke in a cracked, hoarse whisper.
'Oh, I'm mad, young lady,' he said. 'If that's the word you want to use, I'm perfectly mad. The drugs did their work very, very well. I'm prone to frequent psychotic episodes. I always was, even as a child, but milder then, easier to pass off as eccentricity; Lucian's treatment had the effect he wanted it to. And now, you see, I am without my medication, which only makes things worse.'
Ben and Annie glanced nervously at each other.
'But,' Joseph said suddenly and with a certain amount of force that startled the two of them, 'just because I'm mad, it doesn't make me wrong.' And as he spoke, the full vigour of his belief shone in his face. It made him look wild.
Annie shuffled uncomfortably, but Ben had another question. 'Joseph,' he asked seriously, 'if you've been in an institution for fifty years, if you're still prone to psychosis, if you need medication to keep it under control, can I ask you one thing?'
'What?' the old man said flatly.
'Why did they let you out?'
Joseph raised an eyebrow, as though he was surprised that Ben should have asked such a question. 'Let me out?' he said. 'Oh, they didn't let me out.'
'Then how—?' But Ben knew what the old man would say almost before he said it.
'I escaped,' Joseph replied matter-of-factly.
And as if that were an end to the matter, he huddled himself up again and carried on staring ahead of him, as if Ben and Annie weren't even there.
Chapter Fourteen
Air Commodore James Macpherson walked briskly down London's Horseferry Road and abruptly turned the corner into Marsham Street. It was dark now, and he was silently cursing to himself. He should have been on the motorway by this time, driving back up to Macclesfield for twenty-four hours' well-deserved leave. He had been looking forward to seeing his wife for ages, and it was just a shame Annie was away for a couple of days with her cousin. He smiled briefly to himself. Little Annie had grown up so fast – who'd have thought that she was old enough now to take a holiday on her own. At least she was just bird-watching – something nice and sedate, something safe, not like the kind of things some teenagers got up to nowadays.
Anyway, if he could get this meeting over and done with, maybe it wasn't too late to make a move. He looked up ahead of him and saw the modern black and white building of the Home Office looming up ahead. It didn't fill him with much hope for an early getaway – meetings at the Home Office were seldom speedy.
Minutes later he was being ushered to a far corner of the building, where a prim secretary asked him to wait in the comfortable ante-room to the office of the man he was coming to see. His name was Richardson. He had the bearing of a military man, but Macpherson did not know where or with whom he had served; that sort of information was classified. All he knew was that what Richardson didn't know about security matters you could write on the back of a postage stamp, and although he was irritated at the prospect of having to meet him, he was intrigued as well.
It was difficult for Macpherson to sit with his characteristically straight back in the comfortable leather chair he had been given, and he was glad when Richardson's door clicked open and the man himself beckoned him in with a wordless nod.
'Air Commodore,' Richardson greeted him curtly once they were both inside.
'It's nice to see you again,' Macpherson replied blandly.
'Have a seat. There's something I'd like you to take a look at.' Macpherson sat opposite Richardson's large oak desk and was handed two pieces of paper. He studied them closely.
One of them contained a short paragraph of text in a language he didn't understand – Chinese, maybe, he thought to himself. He flicked to the second sheet, which was in English, presumably a translation.
I have to write quickly, because they will find me soon. A weapon codenamed Vortex is being developed in the UK. It has been commissioned by a Russian oligarch and bought for a great price by the government of my country, the Democratic People's Republic of Korea. Strikes are planned against London, Los Angeles, New York and Madrid, and the weapons detection systems of none of these countries will be sufficient to counteract it. All I know is that the weapon is being developed covertly at a UK air force base without the knowledge of the authorities, and that its delivery is imminent. This must not happen. I cannot write more. They are coming for me. It is in your hands now.
The air commodore read it through several times, then looked up enquiringly at Richardson.
'North Korean origin,' the Home Office man said shortly. 'It came through earlier today.'
'Authentic?'
'That's what we're trying to determine. There's been a certain amount of intelligence chatter – satell
ite intercepts and the like – about the word "vortex", which is why this was brought to my attention so quickly. But a lot of things don't make sense.'
'Such as?'
Richardson stood up. 'You are aware that this discussion falls under the constraints of the Official Secrets Act?'
'Of course.'
'Good. All right then. Only a small percentage of North Koreans have access to the Internet. Those who do are closely monitored. It is unlikely that anyone would be able to get a message like this through to the Ministry of Defence servers unless they were extremely technically adept.'
'You're saying it's a hoax?'
'I'm not saying anything yet. It certainly came from North Korea; but we know for sure that there are certain factions in their government who do not like the recent nuclear step-down that the Koreans are hinting at. This looks to me like a fairly standard piece of misinformation.'
'By some kind of breakaway group that wants to see North Korea as a major nuclear power?'
'Exactly.'
Macpherson looked back at the message. From his limited experience, he certainly couldn't say that it resembled the usual scraps of intelligence that came the way of the security services. Richardson was right: it was too obvious, as though someone were trying to fool them. He put the pieces of paper back down on Richardson's desk. 'I'm sure there's a reason you wanted to see me in particular about this.'
'Indeed,' Richardson replied. 'I want to know your opinion about the suggestion that this so-called weapon is being covertly developed at an RAF base.'
Macpherson thought carefully before answering. He considered the implications of what was being said: that at an RAF base somewhere in Britain, a high-level, top-secret weapon was being developed without the knowledge or authority of those in command; that there was some kind of renegade, covert operation in place. There were plenty of military research projects going on, of that there was no doubt. But they were controlled, overseen and documented. The idea that something of this magnitude could be going on without people like himself being in the know was, well, unthinkable.
He cleared his voice before he spoke. 'If you're asking my professional opinion,' he said clearly, 'I'd have to tell you that I think the idea is preposterous.'
Richardson nodded with satisfaction. 'Thank you, Air Commodore. I appreciate your frankness. I see no reason to suggest to the Home Secretary that we up the state of alert unless we receive any further evidence to corroborate what is being suggested here.'
'You'll let me know before that happens?' the air commodore asked.
'Of course,' Richardson replied. He stood up and offered Macpherson his hand, which was duly shaken. 'Thanks for your time. Family OK?'
'Fine, thank you,' Macpherson replied with a gentle smile.
'That daughter of yours, er . . .'
'Annie.'
'Of course, she must be, what . . .'
'Thirteen.'
'She's well?'
'Very well, thank you. Looking forward to joining the RAF herself one day. Now if you'll excuse me . . .'
'Of course,' Richardson said. 'Thanks again.'
Macpherson turned, walked out of the room, and left the building as quickly as possible. He couldn't wait to get home.
Ben and Annie stared at the old man in horror. His words seemed to echo round the concrete cell. I escaped.
'I know what you're thinking,' Joseph said, his voice unnaturally calm and level. 'You're thinking, how did we end up locked in a room with a paranoid psychotic who's just escaped from a mental institution?'
Ben bit his lip. 'No offence or anything, Joseph,' he said in a slightly strangled voice, 'but I was sort of thinking that, yes.'
'Of course you were,' the old man replied. 'You're a bright lad. But you don't need to worry, not about me – at least, not at the moment.'
Ben's eyes flicked towards Annie and then back to the old man. 'What do you mean, not at the moment?' he asked.
'Psychotic episodes,' Joseph replied distractedly. 'They come and go. At the moment, my mind is clear.'
One of Ben's eyebrows shot up. 'At the moment? What's that supposed to mean?'
'I hear voices,' he said. 'Not all the time, but more and more of late. Sometimes a shock – much like the one I have just experienced – will force them to recede. But without my medication, I know they will return. They tell me to do things, and sometimes I cannot distinguish between what is real and what is not.'
The old man's startling honesty silenced Ben.
'If I were you, however,' Joseph continued, 'I would not concern yourself unduly with my state of mind. I would ask yourself a different question. Like, why have we just been blindfolded, handcuffed and locked up.'
'Because we were following you,' Annie said hotly.
'Indeed. You followed me into Spadeadam, which was the one thing I advised you not to do. Tell me, young lady, how old are you?'
'Thirteen,' Annie replied bullishly.
'And you, Ben?'
'Thirteen too.'
'I see,' Joseph continued. 'I myself am in my seventies. You'll understand, I hope, that I seem to have lost track of my precise age. I stopped celebrating birthdays a long time ago.'
'What's your point, Joseph?' Ben asked. He was beginning to get a bit tired of the old man's constantly cryptic comments – it was like being stuck in a cell with a teacher who knew the answer but refused to give it to them.
'Two young teenagers and a seventy-something,' Joseph answered. 'Not a huge threat to a troop of RAF soldiers, I'd have thought. Do you think the way we've been treated over the past couple of hours is how ordinary members of the RAF would be likely to treat us.'
'No,' Annie said immediately. 'They're well out of order, and when I tell—'
'Forgive me, my dear,' Joseph interrupted, 'but unless I'm very mistaken, you won't be telling anyone about what's happened. Not, at least, until it's too late.'
'You know what's going on, don't you, Joseph?' Ben asked suspiciously.
'Not really,' the old man replied. 'But I can make a few intelligent guesses.'
'Like what?'
Slowly, like an old deer rising precariously to his feet, Joseph stood up. The cut on his face looked swollen and sore. He wandered towards the metal doors of the cell and started absent-mindedly fiddling with the steel plate on the wall. 'Does it not strike you as odd,' he asked in that infuriatingly measured way, 'that my brother should still be here, in the same place where he was fifty years ago?'
Annie and Ben looked at each other and shrugged. 'I suppose,' Annie replied.
'So we must ask ourselves why that is.' Joseph continued to scratch at the metal plate with his fingernail. 'I think we can safely say that it is not on account of his love of rare birds, can we not?'
The three of them stood in silence for a moment. His brow furrowed, Ben tried to work out what Joseph's mind was edging towards. 'You said you and your brother were physicists,' he ventured after a while.
'Good,' murmured Joseph, once more giving Ben the feeling he was some kind of apprentice to this strange old man.
Ben turned to Annie. 'Electronic warfare. Isn't that what you said they got up to at this place?'
Annie nodded mutely.
'Well that's it, isn't it? He stayed at Spadeadam because it gave him the opportunity to be around the field of study that interested him so much.'
Joseph continued to pick at the metal plate. 'I think you're right, Ben. But there's more to it than that.'
'Like what?'
The old man turned round sharply, and then waved his arms around him. 'All this,' he said.
'A cell?' Annie asked.
'Not just the cell. The entire underground bunker. You see, Lucian was here fifty years ago. He knew about these bunkers when they were built for their' – his lip curled into an expression of distaste – 'scientific research projects. I feel confident that the existence of the place where we are now is not common knowledge, and the opportunity to be able to continue
his research in secret would be extremely attractive to my brother.'
As Joseph spoke, Ben found himself barely believing what the old man was suggesting. But then he remembered something – something he had read on the Internet back at the youth hostel. Hadn't he learned that excavations for a secret underground missile silo had been found at Spadeadam only a few years ago? There had been no plans or documents on record – officially the silo didn't even exist.
'Are you trying to tell me,' he asked slowly, 'that your brother has renegade RAF soldiers under his control, and that he's keeping us prisoner in an underground bunker which nobody knows exists while he continues his scientific research?'
'And he thinks we know what he's up to?' Annie added. 'This Vortex thing, whatever it is, he thinks we know what it is and that we're here to stop him?'
'But what is Vortex?' Ben asked in frustration.
'I don't know,' Joseph replied quietly. 'But I think we ought to find out, don't you?'
He looked piercingly at Ben, then Annie, then back to Ben again. As he did so, Ben struggled hard to decide what was the right thing to do. This man had just told him he heard voices that didn't exist. Should he believe him? Should he be talked into some fool's errand, to try and outwit these men who, if Joseph was right, were ruthless and dangerous? He stared hard at the old man, trying to find the madness in his eyes that had been so evident when they had been bombarded on the practice range.
Joseph stared back. His eyes seemed bright. Vivid. Determined. But they did not seem mad. Not at that moment, at least.
Ben took a deep breath. 'What are we going to do?' he asked.
A look of relief fell over Joseph's face. 'Thank you, Ben,' he said quietly. Then he turned to Annie. 'Are we all agreed that we need to try and get out of here?'
'Of course,' Annie replied. 'But how?'
Joseph turned back towards the metal plate on the wall. 'Do either of you have a key, or a coin – something to give us a bit of leverage?'
