‘Please sit down, good evening all.’
The Major led her to a dining table where ham salads were plated and waiting. A glass of white wine was poured by a steward, and the couple ate their supper.
‘I suppose I should explain what's happened, ma'am.’
Suzi gave him a penetrating stare.
‘Yes, I suppose you should Major…..?’
‘Apologies, Dame Susan. Lord. Major Robert Lord. Officer Commanding the Special Monitoring Team here under GCHQ.’
‘Well, I'm delighted to meet you Major Lord. You certainly have taken me by surprise. Can you please enlighten me?’
The Major smiled and continued.
‘Of course, Ma'am. It's a long story but we've got a fair bit oftime, so I’ll leave out no detail.’
‘Thank you Major, I'm comfortable, so you may begin.’
Robert Lord took a deep breath and began his account:
‘There are twelve of these highly classified underground bunkers – for want of a better word – spread throughout the UK, in various stages of readiness. This is the only fully completed model – the prototype. I understand that several others are under construction or are in the planning stages. Many are on military installations, but several are being constructed by the same government-owned construction company under newly built surface structures.
They are designed to house one hundred selected personnel and staff for one year.’
Suzi’s eyebrows raised in surprise.
‘Who is chosen to occupy the bunkers?’ she asked.
‘I have no idea who makes the selection, but I understand that the criteria for entrance are fairly strict. Only the brightest minds, the most talented professionals and certain politicians are even considered. Spouses do not automatically qualify, and can only be admitted under their own auspices. The principle aim is to provide protection for the potential leadership of a new nation in the event of a catastrophic event. Initially, it was contemplated that Nuclear, Chemical or Biological attack would provide the impetus to escape into the bunkers. However, the situation outside is clearly dire and other personnel like yourself should be arriving in due course.’
‘I doubt that, Major. How the hell are they going to reach that lift? People can barely travel ten metres in this weather. I think that I may be your only guest.’
‘On reflection, you may well be correct ma'am. Nevertheless, we have a job to do and I will see that it is done – one guest or one hundred.’
Suzi was puzzled.
‘If like me, they are not aware of this place – how do they know to access the facility? And what if they won't leave their families?’
Major Lord had the answers:
‘Nobody will be forced to remain. Every occupant will have the situation clearly explained and given the option to leave. However, there is no return. Once they opt to leave – they may not regain access. It's a one-time opportunity. They really should consider the bigger picture. I understand the familial pull – which is why none of the permanent staff is married. As for knowledge of the bunker – well, you found your way down here and in normal circumstances, with potential occupants at work above, there would normally be a queue at the lift entrance.’
Suzi nodded in understanding. The bigger picture? How many hare-brained schemes or futile gestures had been devised or made under that premise?
Robert Lord continued.
‘The facilities here are second to none. Perhaps you would like a tour?’
‘Absolutely, Major. Lead on.’
The pair stood up, having finished their supper and Lord conducted the inspection of the facility.
‘This room is clearly multi-purpose. At this end is the dining area with seating for one hundred and a kitchen attached through that swing door in the corner. At that end, a screen drops for film shows and lectures. The anteroom you can see for yourself. In one corner is the bar – but we maintain a strict two drink per day limit. Two beers, two G & Ts, two Sherries – any time of day, but only two. We don’t really want to encourage an alcohol problem. And incidentally, it's a no smoking facility – if one elects to remain, it's instant cold turkey!
Suzi smiled. She was a non-smoker, so was more than pleased to hear of the restriction.
‘The entire facility has its own buried fresh water supply, petrol driven generators, LPG gas supplies and fuel oil. All will last at least one year. Grey water – from showers and washing up is recycled into the flushing system and then human waste is deposited, via a macerator, into an underground soak away. Air is supplied via a state of the art air conditioning and filtration system. You experienced the lead doors at the lift. I'm not sure how it all works, but it's seems to be extremely efficient and the air is never stale. Let's go into the kitchens.’
He led the way through the swing doors, and was met by a chef packing up for the night.
‘This is Staff-Sergeant Gordon Banks. He is a cordon bleu chef and in normal circumstances would be reinforced by three other chefs and eight stewards. Clearly, the snow has prevented their arrival. Indeed, all of the personnel you meet this evening are part of the designated Special Monitoring Team. We work two weeks on and two weeks off. Our current shift began on Monday – a piece of luck if I might say so! Staff Sergeant Banks supervises the food stocks, which are stored in the rooms behind the main kitchen. Shall we take a look?’
‘Why not?’ responded Suzi.
The Staff Sergeant unlocked a door and they walked into a huge storeroom, lined with giant refrigerators. Boxes and cartons were stacked ceiling high and at the far end, pallets carried thousands of packs of bottled water.
‘The fridges carry meat, fish and frozen veg. Others are cold stores with veg, fruit and items which are better left cooled but not frozen. There are also tons of packet foods and sauces. It's easier to store. There are also tons of milk and eggs. I think we've got most culinary tastes catered for. In addition, I should say that the kitchen runs on gas, electricity and oil.’
Suzi was impressed.
She followed the Major out of the kitchen and into the next room.
‘This is the alcohol store. Lt George Cohen runs the bar and controls stocks. He also doubles up as the dentist. Let's go next door.’
In the next room was a fully set up medical operating theatre, dental surgery with a consulting room to one side.
‘I am a qualified surgeon – RAMC – and we are able to conduct just about any medical procedure. Sergeant Jacqui Charlton is an experienced medical nurse, and she would assist during any procedure and would also help the dentist. We stock every drug one could possibly need, from antibiotics to beta-blockers to morphine. There is also a small morgue for the inevitable death! We have a chapel catering for all denominations at the rear.’
Suzi was now reaching the realms of disbelief.
‘This must have cost thousands?’ she blurted.
‘Millions I expect, but what are the alternatives?
Dame Susan nodded in enforced agreement as they continued.
In one room was a library filled with fiction and reference books, games, puzzles and jigsaws.
In another was a snooker table, and in another, a table tennis and pool tables.
Next to that was a fully stocked laundry with washers, ironing facilities and dryers.
A mini gymnasium had been set up in the adjacent room, and then after that a Finnish sauna with plunge pool!
She thought she’d seen it all when Major Lord opened the door to a full-sized squash court.
‘My God,’ she exclaimed, ‘they’ve thought of everything.’
‘Well, if people are going to be trapped in here for a year, then there must be something to occupy their time. Now, let's visit the cherry on the cake.’
They walked a few metres to a door at the far corner of the main auditorium and Lord pushed it open.
Suzi gulped.
Behind the door was a twenty-five metre swimming pool with a Jacuzzi at the far end.
; ‘Dear God,’ she uttered in incredulity.
‘Yes, we have thought of everything. We also have an armoury, NBC protective clothing store, normal clothing store and a small shop supplying chocolates and other goodies on ration cards. Every member of my team – there are nine of us – doubles – or triples up with the duties. Our final room may shock you, but I believe you may come to understand the need for it.’
The Major led Suzi into the last chamber, which contained two luxurious massage tables and all of the paraphernalia for absolute relaxation.
‘In times of national emergency, the additional members of our team living on the surface would be called forward as required. They are all volunteers – stewards, cooks, cleaners and a masseuse and masseur. All are single and take no payment – their reward is the chance of life.’
‘This is fantastic. Who thought of all this?’
‘I couldn’t say, ma'am, but come with me into the accommodation corridor.’
They left the main area and exited into the corridor lined with bedroom suites. They walked right to the end and turned a corner. At the far end was another door. They entered.
Suzi’s jaw dropped, but a ripple of excitement tingled up her spine.
The bedchamber was fitted out with all of the trappings required in a half-decent brothel. Leather costumes, whips, mirrors, dildos, oils and two enormous oval beds with satin sheets.
The Major spoke first as Suzi’s mouth gaped wide open.
‘The masseur and masseuse we use are also prostitutes. It was reasoned that men and women trapped in this environment for up to a year would have sexual desires and needs. Of course, some might pair off – but the vast majority would have no sexual outlet. This room is the solution. Unfortunately, our two masseurs are not in attendance and are unlikely to reach us. However, it's a useful facility, wouldn't you agree, ma'am.’
He gave Suzi a neutral stare, watching as she took in the atmosphere with undisguised relish.
‘Perhaps,’ he mused to himself, ‘perhaps?’
There was nothing else to see, and so the Major invited Dame Susan to meet the rest of his team, who were waiting patiently in the anteroom.
When they stepped back inside, Suzi imagined smirks on their faces – they all knew where she’d been.
However, she ignored her embarrassment and shook hands all round, as Lord introduced each one of his eight team members.
‘You’ve met Banks, chef and stores. This is Jacqui Charlton, medical nurse and dental technician. George Cohen is the dentist and rations the booze. Sgt Alana Ball is the P Ed O and supervises all recreation. Sgt Jane Greaves runs the shop, clothing stores and library. Lt Ray Wilson is our comms man and engineer, and will show you round the radio room first thing tomorrow. Sgt Roger Hunt is our Admin guy and does all of the paperwork around here. Capt Neddy Stiles is the SAS bod, and he controls the armoury and helps with the pool and gymnasium. Mr Marty Pieters – a consultant psychiatrist – I reckon we all might need him at some stage. That leaves me, Robert Lord, Officer in Command. I am the doctor.’
Suzi was warmly welcomed as the first real guest, and thanked them all sincerely for their hospitality.
‘I'm afraid I'm a bit shell shocked to say very much right now – I think it's probably time for bed. I’ll bid you all good night and see you in the morning.’
‘Breakfast at 0830, ma'am,’ called out Banks as she headed for the exit.
Suzi was in a state of amazement and incredulity. This facility – bunker – was unimaginable. She understood how lucky she was to be out of the snow – but what other surprises did Lord have in store for her?
She undressed and slipped into her new bed.
Within five minutes, although her head was spinning she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Day 39/46
Wednesday 22nd – 29th January
Cologne Transit Camp Number Three – Germany
Poor old Jim and Carole Planter were at the end of their tether.
The Resettlement Questionnaire had been delivered and had set out the options. It certainly was comprehensive, and they struggled to understand some of the questions posed about their ethnic backgrounds going back several generations.
They supposed that this might help the panel decide which of the hundred or so countries they may be sent to. They dreaded some of the places listed – like Colombia or Bhutan or bloody Iceland. It confirmed that Spain was definitely out of the question. The Spanish government had allocated five hundred places, but all would be drawn from campers currently living destitute in that country.
Consequently, a return to their villa near Marbella was unlikely in the near future. They dreaded what might become of it, as the British government was asking nations to look at the housing stock owned by foreign nationals and currently unoccupied. Of course, UK citizens killed by the snow would have owned many properties. If accommodation was left abandoned for three months, then UKRA was asking if ex-Brits could move in. This applied to the USA, Spain, France, Portugal, Cyprus and Greece in the main, but individual governments were loath to allow Brits to re-occupy this housing as their own population required accommodation – and quite rightly, should take priority. It was a thorny problem and would cause a great deal of friction in the future. Some looters and squatters had already jumped the gun – and the local police forces were uncertain whether to take action.
The Planters made their choices; Australia, South Africa and Canada as their top three. They had friends but no relatives in all three countries, and hoped in vain that this may help their application. They listed all of the potential sponsors, signed the questionnaire, and handed it in to the admin section.
They waited.
On the twenty-second of January, Jim was handed an official looking letter from UKRA in Brussels, and rushed back to the tent to open and read it with Carole.
They were horror-struck with the contents.
Honduras – they had been allocated Honduras.
It wasn’t even on their top twenty list!
Jim couldn’t believe it and Carole broke down in tears.
Honduras!
There was nothing at all wrong with Honduras per se – but it just wouldn't be right for them. It was a completely alien environment, Spanish speaking and steeped in poverty.
Jim ran back to the admin section and joined the hordes of other camp inmates bemoaning their fates. They were jeering and chanting abuse, directed at the admin staff.
A tall, military man eventually stepped out of the offices and addressed the crowd with a megaphone:
‘Ladies and gentlemen. Please calm down and listen to what I have to say. Please calm down or we’ll get nowhere!’
The throng slowly settled, and so megaphone-man continued.
‘I understand that some of you are disappointed with the resettlement location allocated to you by the UKRA panel. Unfortunately, I am afraid to say that there is NO right of appeal. I repeat for absolute clarity: there is NO RIGHT OF APPEAL! The situation is that you ‘take it – or leave it!’ If you do not return the acceptance slip within twenty-four hours, your offer of resettlement will be withdrawn immediately – and you MAY NOT re-apply. I'm sorry, but that is all I can say – now please return to your accommodations and re-consider your options. That is all.’
At which the officer retired into the admin section, shut the door firmly, and securely locked it, hoping that the two heavily armed guards would be able to protect him.
The crowd instantly erupted in fury, and a full-scale riot would have ensued if a dozen armed soldiers had not suddenly appeared and started to herd the inmates away from the building. This action startled and distracted the mob, and within five minutes they had scattered like frightened sheep back to their tents.
Sights like this were repeated up and down the country, and in several camps violent scenes erupted, and some serious injuries were sustained.
However, Jim returned disappointedly to Carole with the bad news.
Their flight to Honduras, via Frankfurt and Madrid, was the following Wednesday the twenty-ninth of January, and there was nothing they could do to change it. Their tent companions had received equally distressing news – Fiji, Kenya and Indonesia were their unhappy allocations.
It appeared to be so random, but if the UKRA was to clear the German transit camps, they were obliged to take up the offers from every corner of the globe. Australia, the USA, New Zealand, Canada, Russia, Japan and China were particularly specific when setting out the criteria for accepting refugees – young-ish, skilled or professional, childless and with no health issues.
Anyone not falling into that very specific bracket was farmed out on an almost random basis, and although Jim was a skilled brain surgeon, he was old and arthritic. They had no real chance of resettlement anywhere other than a third world country.
The following week was spent in abject fear and trepidation for their prospects. The thought of mosquitoes, humidity and impoverished conditions horrified them, and they viewed their futures with utter dismay.
On the Tuesday morning before the connecting flight to Madrid, they were asked to pack up their gear and await transportation. They had been given more specific details of their destination, and it did nothing to lighten their downcast spirits.
At about 1pm, a tannoy message called them forward to reception to meet a visitor.
Jim and Carole tramped disconsolately up to the admin building, where they expected to pick up their transport for the airport.
However, the sight that met them changed their lives forever.
The sight that met them sent a shiver of ecstatic relief through their aging and tired bodies.
Stood before them was Carole’s sister, Grace.
She had been estranged from Grace for about twenty years, after they fell out over something neither could still remember, and yet here she was.
Grace stepped forward and flung her arms around Carole whilst Jim looked on in amazement.
Carole was weeping when she finally spoke.
‘Grace, what are you doing here. Are you in a camp as well? We are going to Honduras tomorrow. What's happening to you?’
‘Oh Carole, you are such a fool! We’re not in a camp. Alf is back at the hotel. You are coming with us – back to New Zealand. It's taken us weeks to find you. The flights are booked and we are sponsoring you both. We have all the paperwork, visas and permissions. We fly out tomorrow!’
Snow! The Series [Books 1-4] Page 94
