“Are we going camping?” Wiggins said.
“This will be your home for the duration,” Olsen replied. “It is fully stocked, has hot water and power, no TV reception down here I’m afraid, but there is a DVD player and some movies. There is beer and vodka in the fridge and frozen pizza for the microwave.”
“Everything a growing lad needs,” Wiggins replied, looking ‘round. “Could do with a better view though. And maybe some dancing girls.”
The squad got their kit stowed inside the trailer; Banks had just enough time to note that it was far more luxurious than they would have been able to offer in Lossiemouth had roles been reversed.
“Wiggo, you and the sarge get settled in. Davies and I will go with the big hard man to make sure he’s looked after. Just don’t snaffle all the booze and pizza before we get back.”
With Davies at his side, they followed Olsen back out into the main garage then walked behind the flatbed as it was towed away by two forklift trucks.
*
The convoy of forklifts, flatbed, and men walked the length of the garage to the far-east end, into a descending tunnel that was obviously of older vintage. Olsen saw Banks looking around.
“This was a nuclear bunker in the bad old days,” he said. “Professor Jensen saw a use for it while the new university was going up and was instrumental in it being reconfigured and incorporated into the building works.”
They passed through a thick, circular iron vault door that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a bullion depository.
“What do you keep down here that needs so much security?” Davies asked but didn’t get an answer, although they didn’t have to wait too long to find out. The slope evened out as they entered a wide, circular underground chamber almost a hundred yards in diameter. The central area consisted of a wide circle of computer servers, gas chromatograms, and numerous long tables festooned with laboratory equipment. The forklift trucks unhooked the flatbed directly in the center of the facility. All around the outside walls were more of the large steel doors like the one they’d entered through.
“What do you keep down here?” Davies asked again. Captain Olsen waved a hand towards one of the doors.
“Have a look.”
Banks and Davies both walked over and peered through an eye-level window. The glass was almost opaque due to its thickness and at first, they thought there was nothing inside but an empty cell with roughhewn walls. Then Banks’ perspective shifted and he saw what he thought might be the outline of a moss-covered arm. Once he’d seen that, the rest clicked into place like one of those fancy holographic images you had to stare at the right way to see. It helped that he’d seen the same thing before, in the high cave above the fjord; one of the rock-encrusted figures was bound—perhaps asleep—embedded in the stony walls inside.
He turned away and counted the doorways—there were twenty-four of them equally spaced around the central area.
*
“Jensen’s experiment wasn’t confined to the base in the fjord, was it?” Banks asked and Olsen smiled grimly.
“Not after you Brits decided to give up on it. The professor was not ready to quit. He brought his samples here and, with the aid of volunteers from the local prison population, he continued his work. What we have here is the result. But they have all been asleep and immovable for more than fifty years now.”
Larsen, the doctor, arrived as Olsen was speaking.
“And as the heir to the great professor’s legacy, I am, of course, very excited to get to work on discovering why this new specimen is up and moving about.”
Banks decided not to mention the fact that they’d dropped a cave on the ‘specimen’…he didn’t want to give Larsen any daft ideas.
Davies went over to the flatbed to check on the prone figure still lying there in chains.
“He’s out for the count, Cap,” the private said on his return. “None the worse for the trip but he’ll be out for a good few hours now that he’s out of the sun.”
Banks was still looking around the chamber at the heavy, sealed doors and the armed guards stationed at every fourth door around the perimeter.
“How many have you got in the rock?” he asked, addressing Olsen.
“Thirty-two—some are doubled up and—”
Larsen broke in.
“And that is all the information you need. You are merely observers here, not inspectors. I will want to start experimentation as soon as the sedative wears off—probably in the morning. I want you gone by then. You have no authority over me.”
“You’re right there,” Banks said, keeping his voice low and calm. “What I do have is authority over the wellbeing of a British soldier. I’ve told you already—if he comes to any harm whatsoever, then you will answer to me. And I will be here to ensure it one way or the other. Your job here is to try to reverse the process, am I right?”
“That is what my superiors have requested but…”
“No buts. You do your job, I’ll do mine, and we’ll all get along just fine.”
Larsen was clearly a man to turn to bluster when intimidation didn’t work but Banks wasn’t about to listen to any of it. He turned back to Olsen.
“I’d like to be here when any of this man’s experiments are done on McCallum. Is it within your remit to grant me and my men access?”
Olsen smiled.
“Indeed it is, Captain. And you have my permission. Indeed, you may feel free to visit the laboratory at any time—we have nothing to hide from friends.”
Larsen looked like he was going to bust several blood vessels, more so when Banks laughed in his face.
“I’ll be in my trailer when you’re ready to begin, doctor,” he said. “Don’t start without me, if you know what’s good for you.”
- 16 -
Banks and Davies got back to the trailer to find Hynd and Wiggins in front of a large TV watching a dinosaur movie, eating pizza and drinking lager.
“It’s all right for some,” Davies said and Wiggins laughed.
“There’s a wee oven in the back, the pizza’s in the freezer, the fridge is full of booze, and this film is fucking crazy. Best babysitting mission ever.”
Once Banks and Davies got their pizza and a round of beers for all four of them, they settled down over the movie but Banks found his attention drifting, especially when it came to daft scientists giving daft excuses for their failed experiments. Larsen reminded him all too much of the men in the movie.
And I’ve got a feeling he still knows more than he’s telling.
While the others shouted at the sillier bits of the movie, Banks went back to perusing the old journal. He didn’t know what he was looking for.
But I’ll know it when I see it.
On his earlier readings of the journals, he’d skipped over where the writer had pasted in some of Jensen’s daily reports; the ones he’d skimmed had been too dense and full of chemical formula and statistical analyses to be of interest. But this time through, one page in particular caught his eye, obviously written by Jensen, for it was in a much tighter, fussier, hand than the main body of the journal.
*
Daily report, June 9th
We have been making progress with the analysis of the samples taken from the cave at Target Site One, and I believe I can now speculate with some confidence as to the nature of the infection that causes such marked changes in the test subjects.
We have been laboring under the assumption that we are dealing with something out of myth and legend, a thing that might even be supernatural in origin but I am too much of a scientist to entertain such folly. And now I have been vindicated, in some small part.
The rock samples have proved impervious to our drills but I believe I have succeeded with a judicious usage of acids and essential salts in breaking the material down to its constituent parts. My breakthrough came, not when I thought of earthly rock strata and geology but of somewhere else, somewhere out in the dark that seems to be the preferred habitat of
our nascent beasts.
I can now say with certainty that the rock in our samples most closely resembles that found in recent meteorite finds in Russia and some of it might even be considered at least proto-organic. I have a suspicion that once our technology advances to a state where we might investigate the depths of the rock structure properly, we will find there to be complex hydrocarbons present, perhaps amino acids and, who knows, perhaps even bacteria or viruses of some kind.
We are certainly dealing with an extraterrestrial biological infection. It does not kill but confers considerable size and strength to the infected, which perfectly fits our purposes and orders in the matter. The apparent tendency of the infected to prefer to slumber, lost to the rock, is regrettable but it is, I believe, one we can overcome with the right mixture of chemical dosage and psychological control.
By tomorrow, I shall have a detailed plan of action worked out for the way ahead from here but I think we can see light at the end of the tunnel.
*
Banks was mulling over what he’d read and hadn’t looked up for a while. When he finally put the journal aside, it was to see both Wiggins and Davies sound asleep in front of the TV; Wiggins had a half-eaten slice of pizza on a plate on his belly.
“Let sleeping dogs lie,” Hynd said at his left. “It means more vodka for us old-timers.”
Banks took a shot of vodka and a cigarette when offered, and Hynd turned off the TV and sat down opposite him.
“If you don’t mind me saying so, John,” Hynd said. “You’re taking this business a bit personally, aren’t you?”
Their friendship over the years allowed Hynd a degree of familiarity, especially with a drink and a smoke in their hands. It had become an unwritten rule between them—booze and a fag was a safe time when orders could be questioned and questions could be asked, even if Banks didn’t particularly feel like answering. But at least he had a response for this one straight in his head.
“Aye, I suppose I am,” he replied after sending half his vodka down to chase a lungful of smoke. “And I know that after all these years there’s little chance of saving anything of McCallum. But we’ve lost a few recently—it would be nice to get a win.”
“You’re thinking of young Brock out in Syria again?”
“Him and Cally and all the others. It’s getting to be a long line, Sarge. Too bloody long.”
“We all know the job coming in, John,” Hynd said, leaning forward and pouring them each another drink. “You’re the boss but the deaths aren’t on you; they’re on the job. And the squad knows that; they trust you to do right by us and to my mind you’ve never made a wrong decision.”
“Thanks for that, anyway,” Banks replied. “But it doesn’t make the dark nights any shorter.”
Hynd clicked his glass against Banks’ one.
“Aye, well, we’ve got the booze for that, haven’t we?”
“I’ll drink to that,” Banks replied, knocked the vodka back in one and reached for the bottle.
*
The hangover in the morning was one of those skull-pounding, light-avoiding ones that Banks had been trying to minimize in recent years. A shower, coffee, and some fried eggs helped but he was still feeling fragile and the first smoke of the day left him queasy. Hynd looked no better off and they grinned ruefully at each other as Wiggins waved the empty vodka bottle in their faces.
“You greedy sods snaffled the whole lot? Well, I hope you’re suffering this morning.”
“We have hangovers so you don’t have to,” Hynd replied with a smile. “But never mind—if there’s any heavy lifting to do today, you’ll get to do it.”
They were finishing off what they could manage of breakfast when one of Olsen’s men knocked on the trailer door.
“The captain wishes to inform you that Doctor Larsen has started his experiments.”
- 17 -
All four of them made their way quickly through the garage and down into the bunker. Banks felt twitchy, his gut instinct telling him that there was trouble ahead and he felt almost naked without the rifle over his shoulder. The fact that the Norwegian soldiers around the main chamber appeared to be armed to the teeth didn’t do much to reassure him.
Then the sight of Larsen bent over the troll’s body drove all other worries from his mind. The doctor held something that looked like a heavy-duty ice-fishing auger and was preparing to drill.
Banks strode over.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Taking samples,” Larsen replied calmly. “It is standard procedure.”
“Standard procedure, my arse. That drill bit’s as thick as my thumb.”
As he closed on the prone body, he saw that its eyes were open and that it was straining at its chains, the individual links creaking as pressure was brought to bear. Larsen didn’t show any sign of stopping and had the auger lowered, touching the stony skin. Banks knocked it out of his hand. The drill clattered away across the floor. Banks’ gaze was fixed on Larsen but he was aware that several of the Norwegian guards had raised their weapons, taking aim at him.
He laughed at the shock on Larsen’s face.
“I told you,” he said. “I won’t allow you to harm a British soldier.”
“But I need samples,” Larsen said, reverting to bluster again.
“Find another way; a more humane way. Or is doctor just another word to you?”
By this time, Captain Olsen had come over to Banks’ side.
“Captain, perhaps you should let the doctor get on with his work.”
“I’m not stopping him,” Banks replied. “But if he tries to use yon implement of torture again, I’ll just knock it out of his hand again. Then, if you want to shoot me, you can shoot me, but I don’t think either of us wants to make an international incident out of this. It can be settled easily by the doctor here realizing he’s working with a patient, not a sample.”
“There is nothing of the man left in him,” Larsen spluttered.
“And I’m telling you I know differently.”
The chained figure struggled harder in its chains, the rattling and creaking echoing loudly around the chamber.
“Private McCallum, be still. That’s an order,” Banks said, putting his authority into it. McCallum became still and the chamber fell quiet. Larsen looked, wide-eyed, from Banks to the troll and back again.
“Good man,” Banks said and turned to Larsen.
“You can take small samples now, Doctor. Your patient is calm.”
Larsen looked to Olsen for support but the Norwegian captain had already nodded to Banks and walked back towards the door. Larsen moved towards where the auger lay on the floor but Banks stopped him.
“Nope, it’s not going to happen so don’t even think about it. Besides, here’s something I made earlier,” he said, taking the nub of tissue from his pocket and handing it to the man. It was even rougher to the touch than before now and felt more like cold stone than flesh; Banks was glad to be rid of it. “This should be enough of a ‘sample’ for you to be getting on with, don’t you think?”
*
The remainder of the morning passed quietly. The squad stood around while centrifuges spun, chromatograms ran tests, and computer screens flickered. Mid-morning, Banks let Hynd and Wiggins return to the trailer for a coffee and a smoke while Davies went to check on the chained figure.
“He’s going to be coming ‘round soon, Cap,” the private said. “I should give him another shot.”
“You will do no such thing,” Larsen bellowed from where he sat at a computer. “You outsiders have tried to usurp my authority since you got here but this is far enough. You have made it clear that I am to treat this…thing…as my patient. Very well, I accept. He is a patient…my patient…and I shall be the one to make decisions on his medication.”
“I cannot be responsible for what happens if he comes around fully,” Davies said.
“The responsibility is mine,” Larsen said. The statement was punctuated by a r
estart of the straining against the chains and the creaks and squeals echoed around the chamber, whiles Banks’ guts seethed and roiled. It might have been the hangover but he didn’t think so. Old soldiers knew instinctively when things were about to turn hinky.
There was trouble in the air.
*
That trouble came while the squad, having returned to the trailer for a lunch of pizza and coffee, were enjoying a smoke. Their relative calm was punctured by the wailing howl, like a clashing of rocks, and Banks’ immediately knew, just knew, that Larsen had made a bad decision in their absence. The noise was all too familiar; they’d last heard it out on the hill in the snowstorm—the patient was awake and he wasn’t happy.
They arrived at a run in the central compound in time to see Larsen withdraw a bloodied auger from the prone figure’s belly. The troll writhed and strained against its chains, its pained howling echoing and setting the whole chamber ringing like a bell.
“Larsen, what the fuck are you playing at?” Banks shouted and made directly for the doctor. The man dropped the auger and stepped back in the face of Banks’ obvious anger and was spluttering as he backed off.
“I’m doing my job,” he said. “He’s my patient now.”
“You’re no kind of doctor at all, are you?” Banks said. “Well, I promised you a beating and I’m a man of my word.”
He didn’t get to throw a punch. McCallum let out one final yell, louder than the rest, then the chamber fell quiet and still…but only for the space of two heartbeats. Then the call was answered, from the sealed rooms around the perimeter.
Thumping, like the pounding of great drums, set the place vibrating; Banks felt the beat through the soles of his feet and in his gut, like standing too close to a bass loudspeaker. He happened to be looking at the nearest of the cells as the viewing window split with a crack as loud as a gunshot. Farther ‘round the circle, one of the circular doors threatened to dislodge from the wall as it was hit with great force from the other side.
Operation Norway (S-Squad Book 7) Page 8
