‘Not that I’m aware of, Mr. President.’ A twinge of embarrassment flashed across Tom’s face as he lied to his boss.
‘Thank fuck for that!’
42
The Cavern
Within five minutes of the president leaving the Situation Room virtually every social media website was carrying the picture of Daniel arriving at Heathrow Airport. Oblivious to this, Amy had been converting a corner of the cavern into a makeshift bedroom by hanging blankets from a line strung between the rear wall and the end of the storage racks. She had used one of the wooden Stinger missile crates to make a crib for Charlie, lining it with his quilt and pillow. Daniel had asked the Gatekeeper to look after her while he was away, so the poltergeist had spent his time helping Amy organise the interior of the cavern, while Charlie lay captivated, unable to take his eyes off the levitating objects moving through the air around him.
Amy was unsure how to take Orion. Anubis she understood, he was a psychopathic zealot, not to be trusted for a microsecond. But Orion didn’t seem to know which camp he was in. One minute he was colluding with Anubis, the next he was protecting Charlie from him. Being left alone with the poltergeist made her feel uneasy and she instinctively reached to check that the hunting knife Daniel had given her was still tucked in the belt of her jeans. In truth, she knew it would be useless against a poltergeist, but if Anubis threatened Charlie again, she wouldn’t hesitate to plunge it into his chest.
Having unpacked and stacked the blocks of C4 explosive, Amy turned round to find a nine millimetre pistol floating in front of her, its barrel levelled at her head. Before she could react, Orion called out from the kitchen, ‘I think you’ll find that more useful than a hunting knife.’ She turned to find him walking towards her carrying a mug of tea and holding a crib mobile he had made from string and empty breakfast cereal cartons.
Plucking the pistol from the air, Amy pulled back the slide and peered into the chamber, ‘You’re trusting me with a loaded gun… what will Anubis say about that?’ she quipped, as she replaced the hunting knife with the pistol, covering it with her sweater. Orion was too engaged with his mobile to reply. He proudly held it out in front of Amy and gave it a gentle flick. The colourful characters cut from the cereal boxes started to dance as the mobile slowly spun around. ‘I think you love Charlie as much as I do,’ Amy said, blowing at the surface of her tea to cool it.
‘Unlike us, he’s innocent,’ Orion replied, still admiring his creation.
‘I’m innocent… I just did what Director Hedrick asked of me.’
‘I’m not talking about you and Daniel. It’s just all become so complicated, you wouldn’t understand.’
‘You’re the one who doesn’t understand-’ Amy was interrupted by the sound of Charlie’s hungry whimper. She turned to walk back to his crib but stopped dead. Charlie was drifting towards her at head height still positioned as though he was laying down. Amy’s heart started to race but, as she stepped forward, Charlie floated into her arms. Sighing with relief she looked up at Orion who’s smile suddenly turned into a frown. ‘What is it? she asked.
‘They coming back… I can feel the vibration.’
It had taken ten journeys, using both Land Cruisers, to ferry everything from the Ground Station up to the cavern, and now a track could clearly be seen snaking its way up the mountainside. Amy stood cradling Charlie, watching the vehicle headlights approach the cavern.
As Daniel brought the vehicle to a halt he waved at her through the windshield. She responded by holding up Charlie’s arm, making as though he was waving back at his father. Then, concerned that he might get a chill, she turned and walked back inside.
‘I’m getting very worried about the baby,’ Mrs. Perkins said with a sigh.
Daniel looked across at the silhouette formed by the reflected headlamps, ‘Me too, but what else can we do?’ As he spoke he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. ‘If only Spiro was here, he could tell us.’
‘Tell us what?’
‘Tell us if Charlie has essence.’
Daniel jumped in his seat as Anubis thumped the side of the door as he walked past, ‘Turn those lights off!’ Daniel flicked the switch sending the plateau into darkness and, climbing out of the cab, followed Anubis into the cavern. They both smiled at the transformation. Orion had constructed a dining table out of some of the racking shelves and covered it with a bed sheet. It now resembled a table at Micco's, with the place settings laid using an odd assortment of cutlery. At its centre were two opened bottles of red wine, a cardboard box impersonating a breadbasket, salt and pepper mills and a bottle of HP brown sauce. The mouth-watering smell from the pot bubbling away on the stove amplified Daniel’s hunger.
Orion had become adept at producing nourishment for his human colleagues and had created what he called camp stew by combining the contents of tins of tomatoes, mushrooms, corned beef and baked beans, all seasoned with a good helping of tomato ketchup and curry powder.
The meal lifted their spirits and by the time the plates had been wiped clean using the last of the bread, they were all laughing and joking like old friends. An hour later, with an empty whisky bottle beside them, Anubis and Mrs. Perkins were both slumped, face down on the table, snoring loudly, while Daniel, Amy and Charlie slept in their improvised bedroom. Not requiring sleep, the Gatekeeper had started his night long patrol of the slopes beneath the plateau, keeping a lookout for any marauding hordes that might arrive.
The next morning they all wished they had unloaded the vehicles the previous night: Daniel, because of the torrential rain pouring onto the plateau; Tanka and Anubis, because of their hosts’ blinding hangovers. But by lunchtime the drone had been reassembled and Daniel had improvised an aerial for the television he had taken from the wall of the pub’s main bar. Orion had recycled the leftovers from the previous night’s stew into what he now called rustic soup, which they all sat eating while watching a TV news channel. Listening to the presenter, you’d have thought it was just another summer’s day. No mention was made of the glowing night sky, nor the fact that the world’s most wanted man had been identified as an Englishman called Paul Evans. Overnight, every website mentioning his name had been taken down and every social media network posting deleted. As far as General Williams was concerned, this was his project, and he was fucked if any amateurs were going to steal his thunder.
While Daniel and Anubis set about refitting the drone’s projectors, Tanka and the Gatekeeper came up with a scheme to defend the cavern. The gash in the rock face that concealed the entrance was only large enough to hide one of the Land Cruisers, so Orion hurled the second vehicle into the next valley. Tanka watched in disbelief as it flew into the distance, producing a delayed crash that echoed around the valleys as it hit the ground. Orion stood with a broad, satisfied smile, ‘That was exciting… what’s next?’
‘Can you try to be a bit more discreet?’ Tanka scolded, realising that the only way she was going to stop the poltergeist causing chaos was to give him a project to work on. ‘We need to build a couple of defence bunkers to hide the missile launchers and the Mini-guns.’ The name Mini-gun was a misnomer as the Gatling-style machine gun could fire bullets at a rate of six thousand rounds per minute. Somehow Anubis had acquired two of them, together with a hundred-thousand rounds of ammunition. As Tanka pointed to where she wanted the bunkers built, rocks started to move, heading towards her from all directions. ‘STOP!’ she screamed. Orion obeyed, and Mrs. Perkins found herself standing under an umbrella of suspended rocks, ranging in size from pebbles to a small car. ‘This has to be done carefully, Orion. I don’t just want a random pile of rocks. The bunkers have got to look natural so they blend into the background. Now put everything back and start again. And this time, only move one rock at a time and, after you’ve placed it, go down into the valley and see if it stands out.’ Tanka smiled to herself as the rocks returned to their original locations. This project was going to keep the Gatekeeper occupied all afternoon.
While Orion started work on the bunkers, Tanka took a box of hand grenades and a reel of wire down into the valley. She laid a series of tripwires that encompassed the mountainside, carefully attaching the end of each line to the trigger pin of a grenade that she concealed under a small mound of rocks. Her intention was to signal the presence of intruders but, if they ended up with missing limbs, that would be an added bonus.
As the Sun went down, Orion and Tanka stood in the valley making fine adjustments to the bunkers, ensuring they were concealed from view. Tanka would point out areas she wasn’t happy with and Orion would then rearrange them without leaving her side. The starless night sky now had an eerie glow about it. ‘It won’t be long now,’ a ghostly voice announced from behind them.
‘I’ve been expecting you, where have you been?’ Tanka said, her eyes still scanning the mountainside.
‘I’ve been with Director Hedrick. He wanted to know how things were going. After all, there was nothing I could do here, not until now. Did you know Technician Mohammed was building another transportation drone? He’s hoping to rescue Amy and Daniel but it’s too late now, they’ve run out of time.’ Both Tanka and the Gatekeeper turned to look at Spiro’s incarnation of Sergeant Rogers, shimmering against the black backdrop of the surrounding dales.
It was two-thirty a.m. when the president arrived in the Situation Room wearing only a silk kimono bathrobe and leather Zōri sandals. Tom followed, the first lady’s rant still ringing in his ears. The gathering got to their feet as the president walked to his seat. Rubbing his eyes as he sat down, ‘Okay. So what’s so important that it won’t wait until the morning?’
The director of the CIA was the first to speak, ‘We’ve found him, Mr. President. He’s in Bir-ming-ham. My agents are on their way there now, sir.’
The president glanced up at the display showing a picture of Daniel’s abandoned hire car. It was standing on four concrete blocks, its wheels, doors, and most of the interior fittings having been pilfered. The director had announced its discovery as though it was a triumph of intelligence gathering. In reality it had been a disgruntled resident of a quiet cul-de-sac in the suburbs of Birmingham who had reported the vehicle dumped in her driveway to the police. Even then, it had taken a week before they towed it away, and a further two weeks before the chassis number was matched to the hire company’s records. But these facts the director kept to himself, ‘I told you it was money well spent, Mr. President. We’ll have him behind bars within twenty-four hours, sir.’
‘Why wasn’t I told he was back in the US?’ General Williams barked, as he strode through the doorway, followed like a shadow by his aide. Standing, hands on hips, cigar in mouth, like General Patton addressing his troops, he stood across the table from the president. ‘This is a job for the military, Mr. President. We’ve gotta depot in Anniston, that’s only an hour from Birmingham. We can close off interstates, twenty, fifty-nine, sixty-five, and lock the city down. I’ll go street-to-street, searching every building. If they don’t come out, I’ll gas’um out. We’ve got some of that Sarin stuff they used in Syria. I brought back a load of artillery shells to experiment with… it’s great stuff… one puff… and everybody falls down. The look of horror on the faces around the table made the general pause, ‘Ya gotta expect a bit’a collateral damage, it’s the god’damn planet we’re trying to save!’ Williams drew back a chair and slowly sat down, confused as to why his plan was not receiving more enthusiasm.
The secretary of homeland security was sitting almost opposite Williams, ‘General… I think you’re confusing Birmingham Alabama with-’
‘Ma’am… the only confusion is you wasting my time,’ he snapped back.
There was a tap on the general’s shoulder. He turned slowly to face his aide who was now sitting behind him holding out a folded note which read, It’s Birmingham, England - NOT Alabama! Williams nodded and slowly turned back to the table, a broad smile growing across his face, ‘The trouble is, Mr. President, some people just don’t get locker-room humour.’ Now laughing, Williams looked directly across the table, ‘It was a joke, ma'am! Just a joke.’ Everybody around the table, except the secretary of homeland security, started chuckling.
The president coughed to regain his composure, ‘We can always rely on the general to lighten our mood.’ He turned to the director of the CIA, ‘I visited Birmingham, England, when I was in college, Pete. That’s one big city. Did the car hire company have an address?’
‘He used the same address as his passport. We’ve checked it out and he’s not been seen there for years.’ The director clicked the remote’s button and a map of the British Isles showing the remaining USAF airbases was displayed. I’m gonna need your authority to use our UK facilities, Mr. President.’
‘Wo, wo, wo!’ the general interrupted. ‘Didn’t we agree that any action would be down to the military. Mr. President… what the fuck do the CIA know about hostage extraction.’
‘Have you ever spoken to the families of Luke Somers or Pierre Korkie, General?’ the secretary of homeland security asked knowingly.
‘No, ma’am? Can’t say I have.’
‘Well, they both ended up dead when your commandos stormed that Yemeni village. They were being held hostage by Al Qaeda.’
‘Yeah, but that was different.’
‘It always is.’
‘Okay… Let’s keep focused,’ the president called out. ‘We’ll worry about who does what, when we know the facts. Now, what else have you got, Pete?’
‘We’ve managed to recover the car’s satellite navigation control unit. It was fitted behind a bulkhead and the looters only took the screen. My tech guys say its memory will still have the last few journeys. I just need access to our facilities in the UK to extract the data.’
‘Just tell me where he is… an I’ll have boots on the ground in twenty-four hours,’ the general said under his breath, chewing hard on the unlit cigar stump.
‘Mr. President. Are we still talking about carrying out this operation without notifying the UK authorities?’
‘We sure as hell are!’ the general said, enthusiastically cutting short the secretary of state.
‘Of course NOT,’ the Director of the CIA barked at Williams. ‘Mr. President, earlier this evening I had an off-the-record conversation with the director general of MI5. We agreed that the best way forward is a joint venture using our special forces and the British SAS. They know the territory. It’ll knock vital days off the extraction time and open up all the UK’s facilities to us. It would be ridiculous not to involve them.’
‘That’s exactly what I was about to suggest, Mr. President.’
‘Like hell it was,’ the director snapped at Williams. ‘Mr. President, I think it’s time for you to speak to the prime minister and get his approval.’
‘James… Wot yee playin at?’
The prime minister was tugging at the bedroom curtains trying to draw them closed. ‘We can’t be too careful, darling. The paparazzi are using those new nano-drones, they’d pay a fortune for a picture of us in here.’
‘Ah don’t see why, you never tek your PJs off any’ows. Personally, i’d luv me boobs al’over the front page. Camilla would piddle herself wi' jealousy.’
‘Madge! I wish you would not talk like that, it is so unbecoming. And you should not refer to the Chancellor’s wife like that.’
‘James… stop talkin as though you’ve got a fingor stuck up your ass… we’re geordies from Gateshead, not toffs from Belgravia. She’s a stuck-up bitch. Just cos her dad’s called Lord… who evvor he is… wi a country estate, she thinks she’s bettor than wi are.’
‘Madge!’
‘This is me soddin bedroom an' i’ll say warra like. They may live next door, but their lugs aren’t that canny. Anybody’d think there were hidden cameras in here the way yee act.’ The prime minister didn’t reply. When his wife was in this sort of mood, it was pointless. The bedside phone bleeped, triggering a voice from under the duvet, �
��If yee answer that, there’ll be nar rumpy-pumpy on Sunday!’
‘Yes, dear.’
The prime minister entered the Cabinet Room wearing his pyjamas, dressing gown and carpet slippers. Sir Grevel Barrington, the director general of MI5, was seated at the cabinet table with the other members of the impromptu COBRA meeting. ‘I hope you realise this is going to ruin my weekend,’ the prime minister said as he sat down.
‘Sorry, Prime Minister. But, earlier this evening I had a little tête-à-tête, with the director of the CIA. Pete was at Harvard when I took my year out of Oxford, we often keep in touch, it’s useful having an ear in the White House.’
‘I dare say he says the same thing about Downing Street.’
‘Amusing, Prime Minister. But, it would appear that this Stevenson thing has raised its head again.’
‘I don’t know why they keep going on about it. We all know the bright night sky is down to global-warming. If they’d have cut their carbon emissions like the rest of us, it probably wouldn’t have happened.’
‘Quite.’ Sir Grevel was treating the prime minister with his usual contempt for anyone who hailed north of Watford Gap. ‘Well, it would appear that somehow Stevenson and Paul Evans are related, not genealogically, obviously. Do you recall our conversation about that modest reward the president was offering for his detention? Well it appears that Evans has been reported in the Birmingham area, and the president would like us to assist in his apprehension.’
The prime minister pointed to the red telephone sitting on a side table, ‘Isn’t that what the hot-line is for? Why doesn’t he just call and ask?’
‘Prime Minister… that’s not how international diplomacy works. If the president were to call, and you were to turn him down… what would that do for our special relationship.’
Creation- The Auditor’s Apprentice Page 37