When he stood, Culver understood what she meant. Dizziness hit him and he grabbed the top bunk.
She was at his side instantly.
'Easy, Steve,' she said. 'It'll take a little while.'
He waited for his vision to clear, one hand on her shoulder, locks of her hair brushing against his fingers. He was conscious of her body's natural scent, its freshness, and the arm she had around him, the warmth of the hand on his hip.
Thanks,' he mumbled. 'I should have listened. I'm coming together, though. If you could just hang on to me for a minute.'
She did, and was glad to.
‘You could easily get lost in this place,' Culver remarked as Kate led him through the grey corridors.
His legs still felt weak, his head still light, but there was a swift-returning vitality to his senses that made Culver wonder just what Dr Reynolds had been dosing him with.
'It's quite a complex,' said Kate. 'I don't pretend to understand any of their machinery, but apparently this place is a repeater station, according to the technician - sorry, engineer - who gave me a guided
‘Your. I'm afraid intermediate distribution frames and motor driven uni-selectors don't do much for me.'
Kate glanced at him. 'It's eerie seeing all this electronic equipment which isn't actually doing anything. I mean, you can feel it's alive, the current is still running through, but it's like some slumbering dinosaur, just waiting for something to rouse it.'
'Maybe it's already become extinct. This kind of technology may not play much part in our immediate future.'
'I don't think I could survive winter without my electric blanket.'
Try a hot-water bottle. Or another warm body.'
She avoided his eyes and he suddenly felt foolish. Stupid remark, he scolded himself. He quickly went on: 'I take it they haven't managed to contact anybody yet?'
'No. They've even used a continuous punched tape on a telex machine, but nothing's come back.
We've no way of knowing what's going on out there.'
That could be for the best right now.'
The corridor opened out and they almost bumped into a small but broad-shouldered figure emerging from behind a ceiling-high row of apparatus. Unlike many of the men inside the complex, he was clean shaven and his light yellow hair neatly combed.
'Hiya,' the man said almost cheerfully. 'How you doing? Feeling better?'
‘Yeah, okay.'
'Good. Catch you later.'
He passed them and strolled down the corridor, hands tucked into overall pockets and whistling tunelessly.
'He seems cheerful enough,' Culver said, watching the man's back.
'His name is Fairbank. He's one of the happier souls down here. Nothing appears to bother him. He's either supremely well-adjusted or crazy.'
'How about the others? From what I saw last time they didn't look too good.'
'Moods change all the time. It's contagious. One day the atmosphere's charged with an unnatural optimism, the next
day you can feel the deep depression hanging in the air like a black fug. You've seen how disturbed some are in the sick bay. One or two others have been treated in there that you wouldn't know about -
you were having your own problems.'
They were in a corridor again and he noticed a heavy-looking door with a small glass slit at face level.
Built into the wall over the door was a red warning light, the light itself switched off. Kate saw him look through the glass.
Would you believe they have their own broadcasting studio?' she said.
He rejoined her. 'Nothing surprises me any more.'
Through here.' She caught his arm and wheeled him into a corridor on their right. That's the repeater standby plant ahead. Not much use when no phone calls are going through.'
They passed a room where rows of batteries sat in long tanks, with rectangular copper shapes above them which he assumed carried the current. Then they found themselves in a large open area which Kate told him was the main frame room. Identical racks of complicated switches and machinery stood in rows, forming narrow corridors; here and there monitors that he recognized as oscilloscopes stood by on trolleys, fault detectors made redundant because nothing was coming into the complex. Culver glanced up and saw masses of cables held aloft by a grid network, filling the ceiling area, an occasional metal ladder leading up to them.
'How much further?'
'Nearly there.'
They finally reached a closed metal door.
'HQ,' she said, pushing through.
The people gathered in the room were facing away from Culver, studying a wall-mounted map. He noticed other maps around the room, mostly of the UK, coloured pins decorating each one. One was marked with a gridwork of thick black lines.
Dealey was pointing at something on the chart before them, stubbing a chubby finger against the plastic-coated paper as if emphasizing a point. Culver couldn't quite register what was different about the man until Dealey turned to face him.
'No bandages,' Culver said. *You can see?'
'As well as ever.' He pointed to a chair. 'I'm glad you're on your feet, but I shouldn't overdo it. Rest.'
Clare Reynolds came around from the desk they had all gathered behind. ‘You look so much better, Steve. You had us worried for a while.'
Thanks for taking care of me.' He was glad to sink into a seat.
'Kate became a dedicated nurse.'
He did not reply, but stared at Dealey instead. The Ministry man had shed his jacket but still wore a tie knotted up to the neck. Others in the room - Bryce, the ROC officer, and several others that Culver didn't know by name - were less formal in shirt sleeves and open collars. Only Farraday matched Dealey for neatness.
'It would appear we were fortunate enough to find cover just in time,' Dealey said, sitting in a chair behind the desk. The others were finding seats around the room, while Farraday leaned back against a wall, arms folded across his chest. 'A little longer and the radiation would have been too much. I want to thank you for getting me here.'
Culver brushed it aside. 'Like I said at the time: we needed each other. I'm glad your vision's okay.'
'Cleared up after the first couple of days. No permanent damage, thank God.'
Culver thought the man still looked drawn, weary, and
who could wonder at it? It was obvious that Dealey had taken leadership on his own shoulders, a responsibility that Culver didn't envy. He looked around the room and saw the same fatigue on the faces of the others. Perhaps the doctor had been right: he, Culver, had been well out of it for the past few days.
We don't know much about you, Culver, except that you can take care of yourself pretty well.' Dealey was frowning, as if the compliment wasn't easy. 'May we ask what your occupation was before the attack?'
'Is it relevant?'
'I can't say until we know. We are a small group and any individual skill could be useful for our survival.
There will undoubtedly be other groups - whole communities, in fact -and I would hope eventually all our resources will be pooled. For now, though, we have only ourselves to rely on.'
Culver smiled. 'I don't think my, er, particular occupation will help in those circumstances.' He added, almost apologetically but still smiling, 'I fly helicopters.'
Dealey leaned back in his seat and said, 'Ah,' the sound an interested sigh.
'Had my own outfit, nothing big. Just me with a partner to run the business side of things. Another pilot and a small ground crew. Nothing fancy.'
What did you carry?' Farraday asked.
'Freight mostly, passengers now and then. We operated out of Redhill, convenient for London and the South, but I wouldn't say we were a threat to Bristow, the big helicopter company based in the same area.' He was smiling wryly.
Farraday was interested. What type of machines do you have?'
'Only three. Like I said, we're a small company. Our biggest is a twin-engined Westland Wessex 60, which we use
&n
bsp; - sorry, I keep forgetting - used for carrying freight and aerial crane work. It could take up to sixteen passengers, so it came in handy for transporting businessmen, trade delegates, or work crews across the country. We've even carried a few rock bands and their entourages to gigs, not just for speed and convenience, but because I think they liked the impression it made. There was a smaller machine, a Bell 206B, that we used for smaller jobs, mostly surveys and freight It carries four passengers, so we used it as our "executive" transporter.'
For a moment, Culver looked wistful. The baby was my Bell 47, just big enough to carry two. I've taught a lot of people to fly in that old machine, maybe not up to CAA-approved standards, but good enough so they'd never be a danger to themselves or anyone else. I rigged it up so I could spray crops too, and got a lot of work from local farmers.'
He found Dealey gazing at him in a peculiar way and realized the man was literally seeing him for the first time (unless he had visited him in the sick bay, which Culver somehow doubted). Whatever physical attributes Dealey had associated with Culver's voice were now being confirmed or denied.
'Just as a matter of interest,' Farraday said, 'what brought you up to London last Tuesday?'
'I've been trying to raise money for a new chopper, an old Bell 212 that Bristow was selling off. They weren't interested in leasing so I had to scrape up the cash. My bank was finally convinced the company was good for it.'
‘You were asking for a loan from your bank wearing a leather jacket and jeans?' Dealey asked incredulously.
Culver grinned. 'Harry - my business partner - was the man who wore the suits. Besides, most of the begging had been done; the idea of the meeting was to clinch the deal.'
The grin disappeared. 'I was running late, something Harry couldn't stand too well. He must have been there, at the bank, waiting for me. Probably apologizing to the manager.'
'He may have been safe inside the building,' Dealey said, realizing what was going through Culver's mind.
Culver shook his head. The bank was close to the Daily Mirror offices. When we were out there I saw there wasn't much left of the Mirror, nor the buildings around it.'
A silence hung in the air, a silence that Culver himself broke. 'So what happens now? I assume the reason for this meeting is to discuss our future.'
Farraday moved away from the wall and sat on a corner of Dealey's desk, his arms still folded. That's correct, Mr Culver. We need to formulate a plan of action to cover not just the weeks we'll have to stay inside this shelter, but also when we leave.'
Culver looked around the room. 'Shouldn't everybody be involved in this? It concerns us all.'
Bryce, the CDO, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 'I'm afraid a situation is developing between us, the
"officials" if you like, and the Exchange staff. It's quite uncanny, but it's almost a minuscule encapsulation of how governments, since the last World War, have foreseen civil insurrection in the aftermath of a nuclear war.'
‘You may have noticed,' Dealey put in, 'how many latter-day government buildings resemble fortresses.'
'I can't say that I have.'
Dealey smiled. The fact that you, and the public in general, haven't is an achievement in itself for the various governments who commissioned such buildings. They were built, of course, as strongholds against civil uprising or attempted coups d'etat, and not just in the event of revolution following a nuclear war. Several even have moats around
them - Mondial House in the City is a good example - or they may have recessed lower floors to make entry difficult. The most obvious is the Guards barracks in Kensington with its gun slits built into its outer walls.'
'Hold it.' Culver had lifted a hand. ‘You're telling me there's a revolution going on down here?'
'Not yet,' Clare Reynolds broke in. 'But there is a growing resentment among the engineers and staff of the telephone exchange. They've lost so much, you see, and we, the "authorities", are to blame. It doesn't matter that we've lost everything too, and that we, personally, are not responsible for this war; in their eyes, we represent the instigators.'
'Surely not you, a doctor?'
They're suspicious of anybody in authority.'
'Meetings like this, where they're shut out, can't be helping matters.'
We've no choice,' Dealey said brusquely. *We can't possibly include everybody in policy decisions. It wouldn't be practical.'
They might feel that's how the world got into this sorry mess in the first place.'
Dealey and Bryce glanced at each other and the former said: 'Perhaps we were wrong about you. We thought as an outsider - a "neutral" if you like - you would be useful in bridging this unproductive division that's presented itself. If you feel you can't cooperate ...'
'Don't get me wrong. I'm not against you. I'm not against anyone. What's happened has happened, nothing's going to make it different. I'd just hate everything to continue the way it has in the past, in a way that's led us to just this point. Can't you see that?'
Tes, Mr Culver,' Farraday replied, 'we understand your intent. Unfortunately, it isn't as simple as that.'
'It never is.'
Dealey interjected: 'On your first day inside this shelter you witnessed for yourself the dissension among them. You saw how many wanted to leave, only Dr Reynolds' good sense dissuading them. We cannot shirk our responsibilities towards everybody, including ourselves, by allowing mob rule.'
'I wasn't talking about mob rule. What I'm referring to is group decision.'
There'll be time enough for that when the crisis has passed.'
This is a crisis that isn't going to pass.' Culver could feel his anger growing and he remembered Dealey urging him to leave Kate to the mercy of the rats in the tunnel. Throughout their ordeal, his priority had been one of self-preservation. We've all got a stake in this, Dealey, me, you - and those poor bastards outside that door. It's not for us to decide their future.'
‘You misunderstand us,' Bryce said placatingly. *We intend merely to plan, not decide. Our ideas will then be presented to everyone in this complex for discussion. Only after that will any decisions be made.'
Culver forced himself to relax. 'Okay, maybe I'm reading too much into this. It could be that yours is the only way, that we shall need some kind of order. But let me just say this: the time for power games is over.' With those words, he stared at Dealey, whose face was expressionless.
We can take it, then,' Dealey said, 'that you will support us.'
‘Ill do what I can to help everyone in the shelter.'
Dealey decided it would be pointless not to accept the rather ambiguous statement. He had hoped to find an ally in Culver, for any addition to their small nucleus of authority would help in the imbalance of numbers. If events had worked out as intended, many other 'outsiders'
would have reached the shelter, and this particular problem would never have arisen. He was disappointed, imagining that perhaps earlier circumstances might have created a bond between himself and Culver, but he could see that the pilot distrusted him. Culver was no fool.
'Very well,' he said, as if to dismiss the dispute. 'Before you arrived we were pinpointing the city's shelters and their linking tunnels. The other maps around the walls locate the country's thirteen sites for regional seats of government and various bunkers, most of which will have been immune from nuclear attack, provided there were no direct hits. The grids indicate the communications lines between RSGs and sub-RSGs.' Dealey pointed to a particular chart showing the southwest of England. 'Over there you can see the position of HQ UK Land Forces, operating from a vast bunker at Wilton, near Salisbury.'
'Is that where the government will operate from?' Culver was already beginning to be intrigued.
'Er, no. There are several locations for the National Seat of Government, Bath and Cheltenham to name just two.' He appeared hesitant, and Culver saw Bryce give a slight nod of his head. Dealey acknowledged and went on. 'Although the facts have been carefully kept from public atte
ntion, several more-than-educated guesses have been made concerning the whereabouts of the government's secret emergency bunker. Most have been correct, but none has understood the magnitude, or the complexity of such a shelter.'
Culver's voice was low. 'Where is it?'
Dr Reynolds struck a match and lit a cigarette that had danced lifelessly in her mouth for some time.
Farraday moved away from the desk and leaned against a wall, his arms unfolding, hands tucking into his trouser pockets. Bryce looked pleased, as though he personally had played some considerable part in the survival of his paymasters.
'Under the Victoria Embankment,' Dealey said mildly. 'Close to Parliament, and within easy reach by tunnel from the Palace, Downing Street, and all the government buildings packed into that rather small area of the city. The shelter itself stretches almost from the Parliament buildings to Charing Cross where another tunnel, one that runs parallel to the Charing Cross/Waterloo tube tunnel, crosses the Thames.'
There are two tunnels?'
Tes. The second, secret tunnel, is a bunker in itself, and provides a quick and safe means of crossing the river should the nearby bridges be destroyed or blocked.'
'How could such a place be kept quiet? How could it be built without people knowing?'
'Have you ever wondered why most of our cable tunnels and new Underground railway lines inevitably run over budget, and invariably take longer to build than planned? The Victoria and Jubilee lines are prime examples of excavations that have far exceeded their financial allocation and completion dates.'
‘You mean they were used to cover up work on secret sites?'
'Let's just say that room for more than just Underground railway lines was made. And all the construction workers -at least those employed on the more sensitive sites - were sworn to secrecy under the Official Secrets Act before they were assigned.'
'Even so, there must have been leaks.'
'Quite so, but the D Notice prevented any media exploitation.'
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