by Robin Crumby
“Have you ever been on a nuclear submarine?”
“What? No, what do you think? What part of ‘worked in an office’ do you not understand?”
“Have you ever killed someone with a poisoned umbrella?”
“Stop already. And no, I never had an exploding watch either, or drove an Aston Martin, or skied off a cliff or owned a PPK revolver, alright?”
“I bet you’re good at poker. Ever had a casino account?”
“Okay, I did have a membership card for a casino in central London once, years ago. That hardly makes me a spy though does it?”
“Hmm, I thought so.”
“That’s it. I’m not answering any more of your stupid questions.”
Riley was enjoying getting a rise out of Zed.
“What are you going to do about the Sister? You can’t put her off forever,” said Zed, trying to change the subject.
“Oh I left her in Tommy’s capable hands. Jack’s agreed to have a chat with her later. Listen to her demands. Joe knows all about it. He’ll sit in with Jean and make sure she gets a fair hearing. I’ve told Jack already that Jean had nothing to do with the fire. First they accused us of arson, for goodness’ sake. It was an accident. I don’t get why they won’t just accept that. Why the witch hunt?”
They both looked round as they heard the distant sound of a helicopter.
“Right, this must be our ride. Equipment check?” said Zed.
Riley stood up and gave him a twirl with her arms stretched wide. As instructed, she was wearing a black waterproof jacket, hooded top, several layers underneath and dark cargo trousers and boots. This was what she called her “ready for anything” outfit. A large Bowie knife was strapped to the side of her rucksack which she shook to make sure there were no rattles. The bag contained extra clothing, a sleeping bag, some dry snacks and a water bottle. She wasn’t carrying a pistol. Zed had told her not to bother. They would be well protected by the soldiers. Zed reciprocated and allowed Riley to inspect him and check his equipment was properly secured. He had insisted on bringing his double-headed axe with him.
The Seahawk landed briefly, long enough to slide the door back and allow them both to climb on board. Inside was a squad of six US Navy Seals, Professor Nichols, and Colonel Abrahams together with a pilot and navigator upfront. Two of the Seals nearest the door didn’t move and stared at Riley as if they didn’t approve of civilians, let alone a woman, making the trip. They stared down at Riley before reluctantly shuffling their backsides up on the bench seat. The Seal team leader, Sergeant Jones, leaned across from opposite and slammed the sliding door shut again, nodding at them both by way of cursory welcome.
As they took off, Riley enjoyed stunning views of the castle and Hurst spit. Gaining altitude, they headed north over the salt marshes towards Keyhaven, dipping forward as the helicopter accelerated. The noise inside the aircraft from the turbine engines was so loud Riley could barely hear herself think. Sergeant Jones pointed at the oversize headphones, with a microphone attached, hanging on a peg above her head. Suddenly, the active noise-cancelling headphones eliminated the ambient sounds and she could hear the pilot relaying course and speed back to a controller on the Chester.
“Good luck gentlemen.”
“Copy that. We’ll report in as soon as we reach Porton Down.”
Over the intercom, Riley heard what she assumed was Colonel Abrahams’ voice and it took her a second to realise that he was asking her a question. She looked up and saw him waving at her.
“Good to have you with us Riley. Have you met Sergeant Jones and the rest of the team?”
Riley shook her head and held out her hand to shake Jones’s.
“You can call me Sarge, or Pete if you prefer. Me and my team will be your escort for today’s mission. Don’t worry, you’re in good hands. We do this kind of thing a lot. I’ll introduce you to the rest of these reprobates when we get boots on the ground. Just stay close to me.”
“Thanks, but you don’t need to babysit me. I can look after myself.”
“No question about that. I’ve heard all about you and Zed. You have quite a team at Hurst. I’ve met a few of them now. Jack, Sam, Terra.”
He looked away, nervous he might have said the wrong thing. Sergeant Jones had been part of the hostage rescue team that had tried to save Terra at Osborne House, but Briggs and his men had disappeared into the night with a handful of hostages. “Bad business that. Sorry for your loss.”
“Don’t be. Terra and I never saw eye to eye. Anyway, I thought Briggs was still holding her and the others hostage. Human shields I heard or waiting to trade them for something. Or was that just a rumour?”
“I heard that too. Let’s hope you’re right.”
Riley was amused by his overconfidence but liked the fact that he was avoiding being patronising or condescending. In her experience, military types tended to look down on their civilian counterparts and saw them as baggage, or worse, treated them like children who couldn’t possibly understand. Perhaps he had read her sheet and knew she was different, an important asset to this team.
“How long will it take to get there?”
“Shouldn’t be more than an hour. Colonel Abraham has been kind enough to brief us on the facility and best places to land.”
“Do you have any idea what state the facility is in? Do you think it’s still operational?”
“Yes mam. We believe that the facility will be operational. They would have been hit by the virus, same as the rest of us. But we understand that there’s an underground complex and sufficient stores to sustain a team there for this length of time, so fingers crossed we’ll find what we need.”
“Have we been able to contact them at all?”
“Not yet. Either their radio is out or the range was too great. Hard to say. We’re still trying. When we get closer, we should have more luck. Make sure they’re expecting us. It wouldn’t do for them to get the wrong idea. The last thing we need is friendly fire as we try to land.”
“How do you know they’re going to be friendly then?”
“We don’t, but we’ll give them a wide berth as we circle and see if we can’t establish contact before we land. We’re hoping they’ll remember Colonel Abrahams from his time at Porton Down.”
She relayed their conversation to Zed and he took the headphones from Riley and spoke to the Seal team leader. Riley tried to lip read but couldn’t follow what they were saying. Zed spoke at length in response to Jones’s questions before falling silent again. Riley pointed at her ear and gestured for him to explain. He exposed one ear and shouted back “Just getting to know each other, that’s all.”
Riley looked out of the window again to pass the time, as they flew over the New Forest. Autumn was her favourite time of year. She loved the change of seasons. Considering how days and weeks mattered little any more, other than marking time, the seasons were what counted. The change in the colour of the landscape was spectacular. Riley loved the bird’s eye view of the forest stretching out beneath her in all directions and the patchwork of colour. She remembered from Biology classes years ago that as the chlorophyll in the leaves broke down, their green colour disappeared, morphing into yellows, browns and oranges, in a gorgeous display of autumnal technicolour.
She rested her head against the fuselage, remembering her last trip into town, the sackful of horse chestnuts she had brought back for the children, enjoying their squeals of delight as they played conkers in the courtyard. It had been one of her favourite schoolyard games growing up. The prize-winning conker she had when she was twelve. Her father had taught her how to drill out the centre and fill with wood glue. “Don’t tell your mother,” he used to say. “It’ll be our little secret.” He had died not long before the outbreak, probably for the best. The weak and infirm had stood little chance of survival. If the virus didn’t kill them, then the lawless aftermath did. Only the strong had survived.
Riley must have dozed off for a few minutes, lulled to sleep b
y the vibrations. She woke up with her head slumped against Zed’s shoulder. He pushed her upright again and she scowled at him with one eye open. Outside, they were flying low over open fields beyond the Forest. They were slowing down, losing altitude.
The Seal team members straightened in their seats and started running through equipment checks, relaying final instructions. She noticed Zed nodding, they were landing in five minutes. She fiddled with the strap to her rucksack between her knees, suddenly nervous about what they might find at the facility.
As they came in to a hover, slowly circling the buildings beneath them, she heard the pilot’s voice over the noise in the cabin, enunciating clearly, presumably hailing the controller at Porton Down. He repeated the call several times without response. Riley grabbed the headphones off Zed, desperate to listen in to any exchange.
There was no sign of movement beneath them. They were beginning to think the base was deserted. The pilot tried one more time and much to the relief of all those on board, a voice from below greeted the helicopter.
“Seahawk AH-57, you are cleared for landing. Be advised landing zone is hot. Say again; landing zone is hot. After set down, send passengers to the main building as quickly as you can. Our team will be ready to meet you.”
Riley wondered to herself what a hot landing zone was. Either way, it didn’t sound good.
Looking beyond the high fence surrounding the facility, she noticed dozens of people emerging from the tree line. Then from all around, others appeared from hiding places, craning their heads, looking up at the helicopter as it circled. Many of them started running towards a large gap in the fence, heading towards the landing area. Perhaps they thought they were being rescued?
The pilot looked animated, relaying instructions to Sergeant Jones as they came in to land. A soldier leaned over Riley and pulled the heavy sliding door open, peering down at the ground. As soon as they touched down, he leaped out and helped the others down as quickly as possible, pointing them towards the building ahead of them. Riley glanced round the back of the helicopter as they advanced as a group, soldiers on either side shepherding them forward, and saw hundreds of people running towards them.
“Keep going,” shouted Jones, waving them on.
Behind her, Riley heard the distinctive heavy beat of the rotor blades as the power was applied before lift-off, just before the crowd reached the landing zone. As the helicopter banked away, they became aware of the shouts and footsteps of the chasing mob. Glancing round, she shuddered seeing them closing the gap so quickly, their eyes wild, improvised weapons held in front as they ran headlong in their direction.
Professor Nichols was the weak link. An arthritic knee ensured he could manage no better than a slow shuffle, helped along with an arm across his back.
Ahead of them set to the right of the main block was a large reinforced sliding bay door which Riley imagined must lead to a loading area. A siren sounded and an orange light started flashing above the door as it slid slowly open. Two soldiers emerged and took up kneeling positions either side, taking aim at the approaching crowd.
“Come on, come on,” encouraged a tall bearded figure standing just inside as the lead member of the group reached the doorway.
One of the kneeling soldiers fired a short burst above the heads of the approaching mob and the lead figures faltered mid-step, suddenly unsure of whether they should go any further. One of the crowd, who might have been their leader, was gesticulating and shouting something. Among a hail of expletives, Riley could make out the word ‘cowards’ as she raced forward.
As soon as the last of their group was safely inside, the soldiers double timed it back to the entrance and a large electric motor sealed the heavy bay doors closed. Momentarily, before their eyes adjusted, it was pitch black inside. Some emergency lighting overhead blinked on, bathing the group in a dull orange light.
“Welcome to Porton Down. We’ve been expecting you,” said the tall bearded figure with a patch over one eye, staring at them suspiciously, his finger covering the trigger on his revolver.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Inside the semi-darkness of the loading bay, the Porton Down team stood facing the new arrivals in silence, waiting for their commanding officer to arrive. The two soldiers who had covered their approach were breathing heavily. They looked out of shape and pale from too many hours living underground, thought Riley. They were eyeballing the visitors warily, unsure what to make of them.
Sergeant Jones and his men set down their back packs and broke out their rations, glugging water greedily from their canteens. Jones offered Riley his bottle but she politely declined, reaching for her own. Professor Nichols and Colonel Abrahams were catching their breath, their backs against the reinforced door, whispering between them.
Riley looked around the covered hangar and noticed a large number of trucks and armoured vehicles in various states of disrepair. Engine parts were scattered around the front section of a Humvee. It was being cannibalised to repair other more serviceable engines. Many of the trucks’ windows were fitted with reinforced grills to protect their windscreens against stones and bricks thrown their way. Their front sections had welded metal plates and reinforced bumpers capable of clearing obstacles and deflecting bullets.
High above them, just beneath the corrugated roof, a door opened and three uniformed men strode purposefully along a raised walkway that led from the guard tower that overlooked the landing area. Before the door swung shut again, they could hear the distant hubbub of a crowd who had refused to clear the area, unintimidated by impotent threats of violence, their raised voices shouting insults. Their challenge to Porton Down’s willingness to defend itself was met with a burst of heavy machine gun fire. Those who had ventured too close to the loading area scattered, screaming.
The uniformed men descended the steps two at a time. One carried an SA-80 rifle, the others had side arms. The group came to a halt in front of Abrahams and the Professor.
“Colonel Abrahams, I presume? My name is Major Donnelly,” he said, saluting the superior officer. “May I present Lieutenant Stephens and Staff Sergeant Heggarty.”
Abrahams advanced towards him and the two officers stiffly saluted, before introducing the rest of the team, each coming to attention.
“Your arrival caused quite a commotion outside. It’s been a while since we had visitors by air. The sound of the helicopter seems to have emboldened the local population. They haven’t had the nerve to enter the base en masse in daylight hours before. They must think you’re part of some rescue mission.”
The Major had a large scar down the right side of his face which seemed to stretch his cheek taut, dragging the corner of his mouth upwards. It was almost like he was smirking at them, but Riley recognised this type of facial injury from her time counselling veterans. For the others, it took them a while longer to get used to his disfigurement, each realising in turn with embarrassment that they were staring. Otherwise, the Major certainly looked lean and in good shape. His military-issue light brown shirt was rolled up at the sleeves revealing thin angular arms and elbows. His manicured hands looked more like those of a scientist than a soldier.
“We’re grateful for you receiving us at short notice. I trust you got our message?” asked Abrahams.
“We did. Although, at first we weren’t sure what to make of it. I understand you were stationed here a few years ago. Is that correct?”
“I served under Major Tomlins who was base commander about a decade ago. I was stationed here for eighteen months as part of my rotation.”
“Yes, Tomlins, my predecessor. Good man. Bad business, all that.”
Abrahams looked at his shoes and grimaced. “He was a friend of mine. I graduated from Sandhurst at the same time as his brother. The family were devastated, two young girls. I kept in touch for a couple years after he died, but lost contact. I think she moved away. America wasn’t it?”
“That’s right. Anyway,” he said clearing his throat, “I’m sure yo
u haven’t come all this way to reminisce about old friends. How can we help you today?”
“Major, we’re here to requisition whatever supplies and men you can spare us. You see, Professor Nichols here has set up a research facility on the Isle of Wight and is assembling a team of scientists to further research the Millennial Virus in the hope of developing a vaccine. Right now, we’re looking for all the help we can get. Lab equipment, samples, hardware, data. From my time here, I know that you have everything we need.”
The Major nodded slowly but was giving nothing away. His face was a mask of indifference.
“Well, I’m afraid you’ve made a wasted journey then. I’m not sure we can be of much assistance.”
“Major Tomlins, I’m well aware of the purpose of this facility. There’s no point dissembling. We haven’t knocked on the wrong door by accident. We’re working in close partnership with the Royal Navy and our Allies from the Chester.”
“Colonel, with all due respect, and please don’t take this the wrong way, there’s a chain of command. I have no authorisation to accommodate you and your men. The work of this facility is classified. Without top-level clearance, there’s nothing I can do for you.”
“I don’t know if you’ve checked outside recently, but who do you think you’re protecting? Out there there’s anarchy and chaos. The Ministry of Defence is no longer functional. The government, Prime Minister, the whole chain of command has fallen. We’re as close to a functioning government as you’ll find. You have a duty to your country to offer assistance.”
“Colonel, I don’t need a lecture about duty. This base has maintained operational efficiency despite daily attacks. We’ve had little or no support from the MoD or anyone else, but we’ve stuck to our task.”
“No one’s questioning your commitment, Major. The work your team does here is invaluable. We’re sure a collaboration, a pooling of resources, would accelerate the search for a vaccine.”
“Really? I think you’ll find you’re overestimating the capabilities of this facility. We’re a relic of a by-gone age. Our equipment is outdated. Most of it is barely serviceable. We’ve had years of budget cuts and a lack of investment. I seriously doubt we can be of much use at all. These days we’re more a storage facility and archive than anything else. We were mothballed years ago.”
