Capital Falling Trilogy Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Winkless, Lance

  Most of the people are moving around the room from desk to desk looking at different documents, having discussions with each other about the documents and then moving on. My guess would be that they are going through test results for the people in quarantine, but I cannot be sure. I wonder if the rest of our results are in there somewhere, circulating around, although I am not overly concerned about any of our results. The medics seem to be the ones seated at a desk mostly and it is the people in military uniform who are moving from desk to desk, checking, discussing and then moving on.

  “Richards?” The unmistakable gravelly voice of Colonel Reed blasts down the phone line and into my ear. He normally calls me by my first name, at least since our new ‘business’ relationship?

  “Good morning Colonel, thank you for the early morning call,” I say sarcastically.

  “A pleasure, I hope you enjoyed your bit of R & R, because it’s more than I’ve had,” he retorts.

  “How can I help you?” I say getting to the point.

  “Debriefing at 0515. Captain, you will be picked up at 0500. I hear they have shower facilities there so make yourself presentable, understood?”

  “Affirmative, Colonel,” Reed hangs up the phone, cutting me off halfway through me saying, Colonel. I was expecting a debrief. So, there was no point protesting, even if the Colonel was so blunt.

  I put the phone down and walk the short distance over to the desk where the medic sat before I arrived. She looks up. “Captain Richards?” she says, looking over the top of her glasses.

  “Hi, I need to use the shower, can you point me in the right direction, please?

  “Certainly,” she says, getting up.

  We head out of the office and take a right turn, walk up a short corridor where she points down another corridor on the left and tells me they are just on the left, while she still points.

  “Thanks, I have a meeting, I don’t suppose there are any clean clothes around are there, I forgot my overnight bag?” I joke, looking down at my blood-stained clothes.

  “There are clean towels and a laundry bag with various clothes in it, in the changing rooms. See what you can find in there, they are clean too, but I’m not sure what’s in there,” she says, smiling a little at my joke.

  “Thanks, are those the test results you are going through, in there?” I venture to ask.

  “That is one of our tasks, Sir, but I cannot comment further,” she says with conviction.

  “Okay, I understand, thanks for your help.”

  “No problem, good luck with your meeting.”

  “Thanks,” I say again as she turns back towards the office.

  After my five-minute shower—which I would have made last for an hour if I’d had my choice, it felt so good—I leave the changing rooms feeling far more with it, having found a black t-shirt and black fleece to put on, if nothing else in the laundry bag.

  I assume I am going to be picked up at the same entrance we came in through so that’s where I go, back past the door to the quarantine area, resisting the temptation to pop back and let Catherine know what is happening. There is something I need to do before I go, however, and take a left turn into a room farther down the corridor.

  Snapping off the tie, fastening my locker closed, I’m relieved to see my Sig lying where I left it and quickly pull of the fleece, hang it over the locker door and pull on the Sig’s holster. I rummage around in the locker, insert my knife into the holster, slide my belt back on, get my phone (which is dead) and get my other bits and pieces. At the bottom of the locker is my body armour and inside it, nestling in the inside pocket is a magazine for the Sig, which I must have ‘forgotten’ to surrender. Finally, I retrieve the Sig and push the magazine home, glancing over my shoulder as I do so to check no one is watching. It feels good to have the gun in my hand again but I slide it into its holster and quickly put the fleece back on and go.

  As soon as I get to the dingy waiting area by the outer doors, I decide to get some fresh air in the remaining two minutes that are left until my pick-up is due at five.

  Unfortunately, the air outside isn’t as fresh as I’d hoped; there is a definite whiff of smoke in the air, but it’ll do. The two young squaddies stationed outside in the dawn light are startled as I exit and quickly pull themselves together, to stand to attention.

  “At ease,” I tell them, reminiscing back to my time on guard duty, which seems a lifetime ago now.

  They both relax, and a cigarette appears in one of the lad’s hands as if from nowhere; that he must be well versed in hiding at a moment’s notice.

  “Those things will kill you,” I half joke to the closer boy in a military uniform.

  “If the Zombies don’t first, you mean,” he says, trying an unconvincing joke. The poor lad looks worried to death. They both do.

  “The Zombies haven’t killed you yet, soldier, so do your jobs and watch each other’s backs, they haven’t won yet,” I tell them both, trying to instil some confidence.

  They both look at each other, unsure of what to say.

  I turn to look over at the dawn rising over Heathrow Airport, the banks of helicopters a short distance away looking almost like sleeping insects, still in shadow, waiting for the sunlight to hit them and bring them back to life. The airport isn’t as busy as it was last night, some ground staff are still around, the odd vehicle going in and out of the hangar to my right. And the air traffic is thinner, heavy transport planes still landing and taking off, but in smaller numbers.

  Just as I am about to look at my watch to see if my pick-up is late, a pair of headlights appear down by the beginning of the hangars, I look at my watch anyway and see that it is three minutes late.

  The Defender pulls up and the driver, a middle-aged man in an orange high-vis jacket, asks me if I am Captain Richards, through the open window. Hearing, ‘Captain,’ the two lads on guard duty quickly stand to attention again and salute as I get into the passenger seat.

  “Stay alert,” I tell them as we pull off.

  The drive only takes a few minutes and is uneventful. There is a bit of small talk with the driver, who I learn has worked at Heathrow for seventeen years and has no family to be worried about, but mostly I take in my surroundings as we drive.

  The part of the airport I see is covered with military vehicles, various types of planes, helicopters, as well as banks of tanks and personnel carriers all around. Heathrow seems to have been taken over by the military entirely and my driver confirms that virtually the whole airport is.

  As we pull up outside a nondescript back door to another large building, I take a few seconds to ‘burn’ the route back to the quarantine area into my brain, just in case.

  We both get out of the Defender and walk up to the door where the driver picks up the lanyard hanging from his neck by his belly and swipes it through a slot sticking out to the side of the door; the door clicks and he pulls it open.

  “This is where I leave you,” the driver tells me. “Straight up the stairs to the third floor, then go through the door and down the corridor to the right, and you will see a reception desk there, okay?

  “Thanks, and good luck,” I reply.

  Reaching the reception desk slightly out of breath from the stairs, I report in. As I do, a tall, handsome man in uniform gets up from a chair the other side of the reception desk and approaches, saluting as he reaches me.

  “Captain Richards, I’m Lieutenant Winters. Please follow me; I will take you to the Colonel.”

  We go past the reception desk towards tall glass windows that overlook the airport and one of the runways. We turn left and follow the windows for some distance. The sun is now up and I take the chance to look out over the packed airport as we go. I have to admit I am in awe of the view of the hardware assembled and I’m certain it will be on the move sooner rather than later.

  We arrive at what seems to be a conference room, but the long glass-walled side has all the blinds closed so I can’t be sure. There are a few people milli
ng around outside it, with more sitting down, the majority of whom are dressed in high-ranking uniforms. My guess would be that this is where any plans are being finalised and the briefings and orders are being given out.

  “Please wait here, Captain.” The Lieutenant says, before making his way over to the door leading into the conference room.

  As he disappears, I look closer at the other people stuck on the outside with me, checking to see if I recognise any of them. I don’t, so I start milling about with them and wait. A few people go into the room and a few come out. And still, I wait, some staying nearby whilst others leave. All who leave do so with purpose, obviously to go carry out their orders.

  Time moves on, and I eventually take a seat at 0545, realising I won’t be there when Emily wakes up if she hasn’t already. I take comfort knowing Josh is with her, but it then strikes me that I actually don’t know that for sure; how can I? I’ve been gone for an hour and a quarter, a fact that makes me very edgy. Josh could be anywhere now, as could Alice; they are still serving soldiers and could be back with their units or have been given new postings with another unit. In fact, the more I think about it, the more likely it is. When’s this bloody debriefing!

  Finally, at 0553, the Lieutenant emerges from the door and thankfully heads my way.

  “Sorry for the delay, Captain, please follow me.”

  I get straight up and do exactly that in some futile attempt to speed things up.

  “Please take a seat where I show you, Captain, and wait until you are called upon,” the Lieutenant instructs during the short walk to the entrance.

  The room is indeed a conference room and when I enter, it is dark, the only light coming from the open door that is soon closed and from two large TV screens. The room is a rectangle, the blinds are closed, blocking the windows that would be overlooking the runway, along with the blinds I was looking at from outside that cover the long glass wall.

  The Lieutenant shows me to one of the empty seats, which run straight against the blinds on this wall. He picks up a thick pile of folders from the seat to my left before he sits on it, putting the folder on his lap. In front of me is a large oval table with about twenty-five seats around it, all occupied. And past that are the two TV screens which are showing some drone video footage of some of the devastation in London. I can’t make out anybody seated around the table because they are all facing away from me, unmoving, looking at the screens.

  It suddenly dawns on me what area of London we are viewing and my stomach fizzes when the drone flies over the Orion Building. The triangular building is unmistakable; I can even make out our exit hole that we blew into the roof!

  “Thank you, that’ll do, lights please,” an authoritative male voice says from a central position on the other side of the table.

  As the chairs on the other side start to swivel around to face the table, the lights come on and someone turns the TV screens off.

  Now able to see the people assembled—at least those on the far side of the table who are now facing me—I recognise more than a few of the faces, all of which are looking gravely in my direction. There is a mix of mid- to high-ranking officers scattered around the table, and I immediately see two Generals, a Brigadier and two Majors I have worked with. Colonel Reed is away to my left and looks as serious as ever halfway down the table. The centre of the table, however, is overrun with politicians, some I’ve met, the others I have seen on the television. And sitting in the very centre of the table right opposite me are the Home Secretary and the Defence Secretary. I now realise I recognise the voice of the man who gave the instruction to turn the lights on; it is Gerald Culvner, the smarmy Home Secretary.

  “Is this the retired Captain that led us a merry dance yesterday, Colonel Reed?” As soon as Gerald Culvner finishes his sentence, the urge to get up, go around the table and break his nose is hard to resist, but I do.

  “It is the Home Secretary,” the Colonel says.

  “So, Captain,” the Home Secretary says, leaning back in his chair but unfortunately not falling out of it. “The Colonel tells me that you insist any information Sir Malcolm would have had about this virus would be on his computer, which we have drawn a blank with… or in his safe in the Orion Building. Please elaborate.”

  Again, suppressing my urge, I get up and address the table. “I am afraid I cannot elaborate much; I was unaware of Sir Malcolm’s previous posting connected to this virus until the Colonel told me over the phone yesterday. I am unaware of him keeping any files connected to that time or related to the virus. I merely told the Colonel that if he had indeed kept any files, they would either be on his work computer or in his safe.”

  The Home Secretary thinks for a second and then asks, “And why are you sure that’s where they would be?”

  “As I told the Colonel, Sir Malcolm did not take work home with him.”

  “Well we have the computer, which we have hacked into and there is no information on it, so according to you it must be in his safe?”

  “No, I did not say that. I said, if he kept files, they would be in one of those places,” I say bluntly.

  “And why didn’t you get the safe as you said you would, Captain?”

  “Because the safe was secured to the floor, the building was infested with these Rabids, or Zombies, whatever you want to call them, and they were about to break through to our position… and it was too dangerous to try, especially with the personnel and equipment we had. Would you have had the receptionist or my young daughter cover our position while we tried to break the safe free?” I tell him, my anger growing.

  “Thank you, Captain.” He says dismissively as he looks away and turns to talk quietly into the ear of the Defence Secretary next to him.

  Now I am about to boil over and give him a piece of my mind, but before I do, Colonel Reed, probably seeing it, takes my attention and speaks.

  “Thank you, Andy, please wait outside. Lieutenant Winters will come out and see you shortly.”

  Taking the opportunity to get out of that fucking room and leave that tosser behind, I go back out to the waiting area, heading straight over to the windows to try and calm down.

  As I look out, I wonder why he got under my skin so quickly; it’s not as if I haven’t dealt with idiots like that many times before. Perhaps it’s because I'm still a bit tired or because I'm worried about where my children and I go from here?

  Having calmed down and taken a seat again to wait for the Lieutenant, I notice a few phone chargers plugged into the wall close by, so I shuffle along the seats to see if there is one that fits my phone. There is and my phone is soon plugged in and powering on.

  Just as the phone has started, the Lieutenant emerges from the conference room. This time, he doesn’t come straight over to me, but starts talking to a female RAF officer. This gives me a chance to check my phone; have Stacey’s parents tried to contact me? It would be a surprise if they have to be honest after what we saw in their office building yesterday, but I hope. My heart sinks a little even more for Stacey, to see that there are no messages or missed calls from either Jim or Karen. Poor Stacey.

  The only activity of any consequence is a pile of messages and missed calls from Josh and Emily’s Mum, Jessica. To be fair to her, she does seem frantic, if not late; the first time she tried any contact wasn’t until just gone midnight.

  Not bothering to listen to the numerous voicemails she has left, instead, I go direct and click her number, glancing at my watch as I do, wondering what the time will be wherever she is in the world if it is nearly 0630 here? Whatever the time is, I am pretty sure she will answer for a change because her last message was only twenty minutes ago.

  “Andy, thank God, are the children safe?” she answers immediately and frantically.

  “Yes, they are safe. We made it out to Heathrow Airport. It was close, but we made it to safety,” I tell her. It still seems strange hearing her voice, even after so long.

  “Let me speak to them—is Josh there?”


  “They aren’t here right now; I’ve only just managed to get my phone on.”

  “Where are they then?” She nearly shouts at me.

  “They are safe, Jessica, I have had to leave them for a while to try and sort things out, I will be back with them shortly, I hope, and I will get them to ring you.”

  “You’ve left them? Are you serious?” she says, getting hysterical.

  “Calm down, Jessica, I don’t think you are in any position to judge. Where are you anyway?”

  After a moment of silence, she does calm down slightly. “In Sri Lanka, me and Dylan found some cheap flights, so we took them.”

  Dylan, for Christ sake, I think to myself, I haven’t heard of him before, probably some long-haired hippy.

  “Are you planning on coming back?” I ask her.

  “How can we?” she asks, getting upset, “All flights are cancelled, everywhere, people are stranded all over the world!”

  Her news doesn’t come as a big shock; even though I hadn’t thought of it, it makes sense for governments to close airspace with this type of threat. Nobody is going to want this virus on their doorstep.

  “Oh, I didn’t know that,” I tell her.

  “You didn’t know? How could you not know that? Where have you been?”

  “It’s a long story and I haven’t got time to tell it now, Jessica.” I see Lieutenant Winters coming my way.

  “I’ve got to go, Jessica, the kids are safe for now and I will get them to phone you as soon as I can. I am sure they will fill you in with what has gone on, okay?”

  “Okay Andy, please keep them safe, I will get back as soon as possible.” She is starting to cry now.

  “I will, Jessica, goodbye.”

  Just as I hang up the phone, the Lieutenant gets to me.

  “Sorry to have kept you waiting, Captain, shall we make arrangements to get you back to your children?”

  “By all means, Lieutenant, lead on.”

  As we walk back the way we came, he doesn’t mention anything about the meeting I have just had in the conference room or anything else for that matter, but I try to probe him.