by RR Haywood
‘I don’t know.’
‘Explain.’
‘We are discouraged from asking questions of each other in a social capacity. We are discouraged from seeking information about the organisation other than to serve our professional needs.’
‘How many agents does your organisation have?’
‘Seventy-eight work within the One, Two and Three structure. Those agents are forward operators. They lead teams, conduct operations and investigations. We have many operatives who assist those agents.’
‘Do not ever lie to me again. How many operatives?’
Tango Two cannot stop her reaction of guilt at lying, her cheeks burning in shame at the harsh tone Miri used. Who is this woman?
‘Over five hundred,’ Tango Two says.
‘Funding. Explain.’
‘We are funded by central government. We have primary responsibility for non-police domestic security, terrorism, counter-terrorism and overseas interests.’
‘Your experience. Explain.’
‘Combat. Surveillance and counter-surveillance, and counter-espionage. Diplomatic surveillance and disruption.’
‘Do you know why we are here?’
‘No.’
‘Why did they attack you?’
‘I really don’t know.’
‘Did you do anything to provoke them?’
‘No.’
‘Do you know Bertram Cavendish or any members of his family?’
‘No.’
‘Tell me what you know.’
‘You have a time machine. Bertram Cavendish invented it. You had a staging area in Berlin. That is what I knew prior to Cavendish Manor. I now know you have Safa Patel, Ben Ryder and Harry Madden, along with Doctor John Watson, who I have not previously heard of, and you, of course. I do not know anything else of any significance.’
‘You do.’
‘Only what I have gleaned. You followed a smurf to get money. I do not know why you need the money or the reasons you took it. Neither Ben, Harry nor Safa have revealed anything of significance, but may I say thank you for the clothes and the care you have shown. What are you planning to do with me? Do you know why they attacked me?’
‘Tell me what happened that led to you being here.’
‘The same as I have previously told,’ Tango Two says carefully, politely, passively. To show any degree of irritation will create an opening for an interrogator to take advantage of. She repeats the same account. Factual. No opinions offered. Only what she saw.
‘Thank you. Return to your rooms, please. Tell Safa to secure you.’
‘Sorry?’
‘That is all, Tango Two. Return to your rooms. Tell Safa to secure you.’
‘Okay, hang on,’ Tango Two says, blinking as she shuffles forward on the chair. ‘You want me to walk back through this . . . this place on my own to find Safa and ask her to lock me in my rooms?’
‘Yes.’
‘I could run outside.’
‘The dinosaurs will be glad to see you.’
‘Listen, I am a trained . . .’
‘Now, Tango Two.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Tango Two replies instantly at the tone and absolute authority of the older woman.
She does it too. She walks from the office down the corridor, into the main room and over to the big table, where she stands to finish her coffee. She glances at the knives, forks and other things she could use as weapons and considers taking something to conceal. She could slide a fork or a knife off the table when she puts her cup down, but dismisses the notion the second it forms. She might be under observation. They might count all the equipment, and anyway, what would she use it for? To do what? Go where? Force is not the way forward. Compliance and passivity are the best options. Something else too. Something nagging in the back of her mind.
She walks back up the corridor and stops at the open door to see Harry standing in the middle room reading Harry Potter and Safa pulling her hair back to tie off with what looks like an old scrap of grey material.
‘Hi, er . . . Miri said to . . .’
‘You going back in your rooms?’
‘Yes. Yes, I am. Miri said to ask you to lock me in.’
Safa laughs. ‘How fucked-up is this?’
Eighteen
Miri looks up from the tablet as they file into the portal room.
‘Briefing. Ready? Fort Bragg. America. Largest military base in the world at the time we are attending, which is zero two hundred hours mid-winter in the year 2009. Place of entry is the main storage depot for personal-issue weapons. We are increasing our armoury because . . .’
‘We need to go back and support us at Cavendish Manor,’ Ben cuts in.
Miri notices the lack of reaction from the other two. No, not a lack of reaction, more a sense of expectation. She knows Ben worked it out very quickly and explained it to the other two.
‘Very good, Mr Ryder. That is correct.’
‘So it definitely was us firing outside the house?’
‘It was and it will be,’ Miri says.
‘So it’s us giving us support? The us inside the house? In effect then, we’ve already done it because it already happened, which means we’ve already got the guns and so we will go and get these guns and train . . . but why Fort Bragg?’ His head drops; the frown crosses his features. His hand rubs at his jaw as he looks up at Miri. ‘Ah, yep, yep, yep, you were US military intelligence, so I am guessing at some point you were posted there, so you know this location. That makes sense because the armoury inside the base doesn’t need to be secure because it’s inside the base. Okay. I’ve got that. Why not a factory? I guess that’s because the US military is so bloody big they won’t know or simply won’t care if a few guns go missing. Right. Yep, got it. Happy now.’ He stops talking and slowly becomes aware of everyone staring at him. ‘What?’ he asks.
‘Nothing,’ Safa says, looking away quickly.
‘Bit bloody risky though,’ Ben says. ‘Going into an American army base, I mean. Are you sure we go there? Maybe we go somewhere else . . . Like the Kremlin, or somewhere less dangerous than the biggest . . .’
‘Be fine,’ Harry says, slapping him on the back. ‘Yanks never lock their stuff up. We nicked it all the time.’
‘Really?’ Ben asks, recovering himself as the room fills with the glow of the portal shimmering to life.
‘Had a tank away from them in Italy.’
‘A tank?’
‘Aye. Then a frigate in Portsmouth.’
‘A what?’ Ben asks as Miri tilts her head at Harry.
‘Frigate,’ Harry says. ‘Ship.’
‘You stole a ship?’ Ben asks.
‘And a tank,’ Harry says.
‘Heard about that ship,’ Miri says.
‘What did you do with it?’ Ben asks.
‘We rammed a German battleship with it.’
‘What about the tank?’
‘We kept that.’
‘Oh,’ Ben says.
‘Good tank.’
‘Right.’
‘We should get a tank, ma’am,’ Harry suggests.
‘We’re not getting a tank,’ Ben says.
‘Who the fuck are you?’ A deep American voice booms out. They snap from staring at Harry to the man leaning through the portal glaring round the room. ‘This a Spec-Ops thing?’ the man asks. Buzz-cut hair. A hard face and strong jaw. Army fatigues on his upper body.
‘Soldier,’ Ben says, stepping quickly in front of Safa, who was about to launch at the portal. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Staring at you,’ the soldier fires back. ‘Seeing as this is in my goddam armoury . . .’
‘Staring at you . . . sir,’ Ben says, sounding each word out with perfect delivery and complete authority. He takes a step forwards and stops with his hands on his hips to glare at the soldier. ‘Waiting?’ he adds quietly.
‘What?’
‘You said we had this area clear,’ Ben says, glancing at Miri. ‘This area should b
e clear. That was the agreement. How can we test holographic equipment if we have bloody soldiers poking their heads in every five minutes? And rude soldiers at that. Rude soldiers who don’t know HOW TO SAY SIR!’
‘Stand down, soldier,’ Miri barks, her accent suddenly noticeably firmer, harder and distinctly American. ‘Sir, I can assure you this area should have been cleared.’
‘Well, it’s not bloody clear, is it?’ Ben says, withering in delivery. He moves towards the portal with an air of utter confidence. ‘Well, go on, piss off.’
‘What?’
‘THE OFFICER GAVE YOU A COMMAND,’ Harry roars, striding at the soldier.
‘Sir, yes, sir!’ The soldier snaps a salute and draws back.
‘Follow through,’ Miri whispers.
Ben and Harry march through the portal with that instant transition not just from one room to another, but to a completely different place in terms of oxygen, the smell of the air and the feel of the world around them. Instantly colder, and the air taken into lungs a hundred million years ago mists as it is exhaled. Ben glares round a vast room, pointedly ignoring the two soldiers as Harry walks straight at them.
‘OFFICER ON THE DECK. TEN . . . SHUN!’
Instant compliance. Both come ramrod straight to snap salutes. Harry glowers, simmering with aggression that terrifies the two young men. ‘Shower of shit,’ he growls. ‘Pair of miserable little squaddies. DO NOT EYEBALL ME, SOLDIER . . .’
Miri and Safa come through. Safa holds back with Ben, while Miri moves to stand next to Harry.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ she demands. ‘Who ordered you here? Was it Captain Dayton? I told him this area is to be clear.’
‘Ma’am,’ one of the soldiers says, with another salute. ‘Captain Dayton is away this weekend, ma’am. Leave, ma’am. Said to count the rifles, ma’am.’
‘Punishment detail?’ Harry barks.
‘Sir, yes, sir.’
‘What did you do?’ Miri asks.
A look between them. Worry and angst filling their features.
Harry leans round them to make a point of noticing the playing cards on the floor behind and the stubbed-out cigarette butts. Open cans of soda. Empty food packets and army-green blankets rolled up and used as seats. He tuts once. Disdainful and disgusted.
The blood drains from the soldiers’ faces. One even squeezes his eyes closed at being caught out, because their futures are suddenly filled with days of court martials, trials and sentences of hard labour for a long time to come.
‘I asked a question,’ Miri snaps.
‘Stole a jeep, ma’am,’ one blurts.
‘Crashed it,’ the other says.
‘Into the General’s staff car.’
‘Killed his cat, ma’am.’
Ben snorts a laugh, then coughs to cover it and turns away.
‘You are both in deep trouble,’ Miri says.
Ben pauses, watching them closely, choosing his moment. He moves closer and sighs heavily. ‘This test should be covert,’ he says to Miri. ‘These two have seen it.’
‘And they will pay for it,’ Miri says.
‘Doesn’t stop the test from being blown, does it? They’ll tell everyone. They’ll go back and say what they saw. What then? This has been months in the planning. The British Army does not want this spoken about. Generating holographic illusions is meant to be secret.’
‘Ach, I’m sure we can have an agreement,’ Harry growls, moving closer to the two men. ‘I’m sure an understanding can be reached here.’ He stops a hair’s width away from one. Glaring as though waiting for a response, before moving to do the same with the other one. ‘Do you want to be court-martialled for dereliction of duty, son?’
‘No, sir,’ the soldier blurts meekly.
‘My commanding officers do not have my level of patience and tolerance. My commanding officers do not want this spoken about . . .’
‘Sir.’
‘Sir.’
‘I AM A SERGEANT, NOT A SIR.’
‘Sergeant!’
‘Sergeant!’
‘You will not discuss this. You will not mention this. If you discuss this or mention this, I will find you. Are we clear?’
‘Yes, sergeant!’
‘Yes, sergeant!’
‘Ma’am,’ Harry says, stepping away and speaking calmly, as though nothing has happened. ‘Just lads having a game of cards on their ref break, ma’am. No harm done, ma’am. Seem like good lads, ma’am.’
Miri holds position, as though deliberating, before shooting a glance at Ben, who nods once and waves a dismissive hand.
‘Leave us,’ Miri tells them both. ‘Our test will be done in thirty minutes, at which point you can return. I will be speaking to Captain Dayton to ensure these rifles are counted correctly. Are we clear?’
‘Ma’am.’
‘Ma’am.’
‘Dismissed.’
The two about-turn into each other. Both swear. Both about-turn to face the opposite direction and set off before one realises and turns to run and catch the other. It takes seconds for them to cross the vast room, but finally they walk out the far door.
‘What the fuck!’ Ben releases the breath he was holding. ‘Jesus Christ . . . Did that just happen?’
‘That was incredible,’ Safa says, grinning at Ben and Harry. ‘Ben! You reacted so quickly.’
‘Aye, was very good, Ben.’
‘You were brilliant,’ Ben says, staring in awe at Harry. ‘Miri? That okay?’
‘Fine,’ Miri says. ‘They won’t say a word.’
‘How can you be so sure?’ Safa asks.
‘I saw them when I was here. Month from now. I remember they both panicked and snapped salutes when I walked past. Had no idea why at the time.’
Drab olive-green shelving units line the walls. Each one a segment bolted to the next, and each containing assault rifles that stand lined in perfect symmetry. More units given over for the storage of sidearms, sniper rifles, light machine guns, heavy machine guns and ground troop missile-firing systems.
‘Come on, Ryder,’ Safa says, shoulder-bumping him. ‘That was seriously cool though.’
‘Thanks.’
She holds her dark eyes on him for a second before walking over to join Harry inspecting the closest batch of M4 assault rifles. She pulls one out to turn over in her hands. ‘These are only semi, Miri.’
‘Over here,’ Miri says, pulling what looks to Ben to be an identical weapon from a different section.
‘What’s the difference?’ he asks.
‘These,’ Safa says, waving a hand at the closest, ‘are the rifles issued to the soldiers. Semi-automatic and burst fire only. ‘Those though,’ she says, leading them both over to Miri, ‘are the ones the US Special Forces use, and are fully automatic. Harry, have a look. These are good weapons.’
‘Light,’ he rumbles, hefting the weapon. He turns it over, checks the balance, then taps a fingernail against different parts and sections.
‘Twenty of these,’ Miri says, pulling another two from the rack.
‘Twenty?’ Ben asks.
‘Spares. Breakages. Planning.’
‘Right, okay,’ he says. ‘So how do we go back, and what do we do? At the house, I mean?’
‘Later.’
‘Why later? Why not now?’
‘Later. Twenty of these,’ she counts them out. ‘Get familiar with them. You need to be fully conversant. Train for stoppages, blockages, malfunctions. Start using radios, and understanding basic commands and hand signals. Safa, I want them at your standard as soon as possible.’
‘What are we doing with Tango Two?’ Ben asks as they walk back to the portal.
‘You are very intelligent,’ Miri says after a pause.
‘And what?’ Ben asks when she doesn’t continue. She still doesn’t continue, but goes with them into the portal room to stack the rifles against the wall. She still doesn’t continue then, but moves back into the armoury.
‘Bar
rett fifty-calibre, semi-automatic sniper rifle,’ she says, stopping at a section holding several enormous guns. She hefts one out, grimacing at the weight and the pain in her lower back, hips, joints, ankles and everywhere else.
‘Ma’am,’ Harry says, taking the weapon from her. His eyes show pleasant surprise at the size of the weapon, which looks normal when held by him. ‘Fifty calibre?’ he enquires politely.
‘Fifty calibre,’ Miri says.
‘Is that big?’ Ben asks.
‘It’s big’ Safa says.
‘Oh. Why do we need big?’ Ben asks.
‘Dinosaurs,’ Miri says.
‘Oh.’
‘And firepower.’
‘Oh.’
‘Browning heavy machine gun,’ Miri says, stopping at another section as the others gather round to stare at the huge gun.
‘What calibre is that?’ Ben asks.
‘Also fifty,’ Miri says.
‘Oh. Why do we need another fifty?’
They look at him.
‘What?’ he asks.
‘Sniper rifle,’ Miri says, pointing back to the Barrett fifty-calibre sniper rifles. ‘Machine gun,’ she adds, pointing at the machine gun.
‘Oh,’ Ben says, then shrugs.
‘Single aimed shots,’ Miri says, pointing back. ‘Suppressing fire,’ she adds, pointing at the machine gun.
‘Oh,’ Ben says. ‘The dinosaurs firing back then, are they?’
‘No.’
‘It was a joke.’
‘I know, Mr Ryder. I am laughing on the inside.’
‘Ha!’ Safa snorts.
‘M72 light anti-tank weapon,’ Miri says, stopping at the next section.
‘That’s a rocket launcher.’ Ben looks from the long metal tube to Miri. ‘A bazooka.’
‘Not a bazooka.’
‘Looks like a bazooka.’
‘Single fire. Point and shoot. Remarkably simple to use,’ Miri says. ‘Twenty of these.’
‘Twenty? How big are these dinosaurs?’
‘Very funny, Mr Ryder.’
‘Ha!’ Safa snorts again.
‘M67 fragmentation grenade. Fatal radius five metres. Severe injury to fifteen metres.’
‘In case the bazookas don’t work?’
‘In case the bazookas don’t work, Mr Ryder. Two cases.’
The kit is carried through, and each passage shows the instant change from mid-winter to a higher oxygen density and greater heat and humidity. They scurry back and forth. Carrying crates of ammunition, grenades, rocket launchers and the heavy, frame-mounted machine guns.
