I rounded the HADU and started down the far side of the complex. I needed to do this quickly, before I was seen.
The windows around the outer perimeter belonged to the various rooms, facing the open moorland. I slowed, ducking under the glow from the first window – the common room. Again under the next window, the dining room, and round the corner at the end of the kitchen, passing the curved corridor to the first sleeping hut – mine.
As far as most people knew the windows were all sealed, but it would have been easy enough for someone with a key to have slid a window open from the outside, dropping a vial of contaminated soil into their bedroom, avoiding the CCTV.
I didn’t like the idea of people being able to come and go without detection, bypassing everyone else and the CCTV, so I set about remedying the lax security. I could have pocketed all the other keys from Greenbow’s office, then maybe confronted Gambetta in front of the team, but I didn’t want to involve anyone else just yet. Fortunately, there was a far easier way to secure the windows, without alerting anyone.
I was crouched alongside my bedroom hut. There were two windows, as each hut contained two rooms. Both dark. I knew from my recce that Demeter was still outside somewhere so ours was a good window to start with. I stood up, peering in. Thanks to the hut’s stilts and the relatively small windows (less surface area means less heat loss in the Antarctic) my chin only reached the bottom of the window frame. As far as I could see, the room was empty. I clicked on my torch, shining it through the window to be sure. Demeter’s bed was the opposite of mine – again perfectly made, the effect of years in relative captivity on a military base in the Soviet Union, I presumed. My opened bottle was standing upright on the bedside table, the unopened one lay on the bed. I switched off the torch.
I turned my attention to the window frame itself. Each window was split into two staggered panes – one pane sliding sideways across the other in a track. It meant only half of the window area opened, but it was still plenty big enough for even Dash to climb through.
It was the outer pane which contained the handle and lock, so the outer pane which slid open. I traced my finger down the joint between the two frames. As you’d expect, it was close, airtight. I reached in my pocket, pulling out a screwdriver and a self-tapping screw I’d swiped from the shed. I jabbed the screw into the inner frame, pushed the screwdriver as hard as I could, turning, grinding until the screw finally bit into the plastic. I kept screwing it in until just the head stuck out. I coloured the end of the shiny brass screw with the black permanent marker I’d used to label Alice’s vials, and stood back. The screw was invisible.
There was no way the window would open now – millimetres, at best, until it jammed on the screw head blocking the track. One down. It stood to reason the killer would most likely have used their own bedroom as the means of smuggling the anthrax in (you wouldn’t drop something onto the sofa in the common room or the kitchen worktop, and leave it there for ten minutes while you decontaminated), so I wasn’t as concerned with the public areas at the moment; the lounge, dining room, kitchen, labs – I didn’t want to be seen screwing windows shut, for obvious reasons.
The clouds parted, orange base glowing in the faint light. I looked up to see a thin sliver of moon watching me, the last of it before the darkness of early December and the coming of the Oak Moon, the time of the Dark Lord, if you’re into that sort of thing. I’m not, but I shivered all the same.
I felt something else, close by, a presence, just a whisper. The same phantom had followed me for so long now. My hands were clammy in the thick gloves, my heart raced, I felt dizzy, had to reach a hand to the wall to steady myself. It would be satisfied soon. I got my breath back and turned through 360 degrees to empty black. The Moon scowled and slid back behind the clouds, leaving me alone again.
Chapter Twenty-five
In less than ten minutes I’d worked my way back, even managing to do all the labs, radio room, and dining room undetected. Only the kitchen and lounge had been occupied. I was a little concerned with how Dash would react when he found out I’d screwed nearly all his windows shut, but reasoned it was worth the risk and, though no one seemed to be acknowledging it, we had other things to worry about. Now anyone wanting to bring anthrax – or anything else, for that matter – in or out of the base would be forced to run the gauntlet of CCTV camera in the HADU.
After dropping the screwdriver off, I climbed the steps, walking straight into the first shower, this time scrubbing quickly, glad to be back inside. I spent considerably longer in the second shower, sitting on the floor, letting the hot water flush the cold from my bones and wishing more than ever I was back on the mainland. I was getting too old for this, maybe not physically, but… I held my head in my hands, gripping tightly to stop them shivering.
My mind wandered; an old coaching inn on the shores of Loch Ness, a pie and a pint of something local, without having to choose a seat with a view of the exits. Craving a different kind of normality, for something else to become familiar, to push out the other. Someone went out, toilets flushed, doors banged. When I realised I was stalling, I finally left the cubicle.
Chapter Twenty-six
Unexpectedly, there was a party atmosphere in the common room. The term is relative, you understand; still, drinks were flowing and smiles seemed to have replaced ill tempers as I hovered silently in the doorway. Marie was deep in conversation over an iPad with Alice, both of them cradling wine glasses. Dash was sitting at the table in the corner. I gave him a nod, but he was engrossed in a handful of cards. He must have been playing with Hurley, who was absent – another set of cards were lying face down on the table opposite him. From the look on his face, he was wrestling with the idea of sneaking a peek. I realised Gambetta was absent too, and for a brief moment I panicked that I’d miscalculated, that he could have been watching me all that time, so I was relieved when someone mentioned he was in the comms room for the 7 p.m. radio check-in.
Clay was slouched in an armchair, a magazine on his lap and a tumbler of Scotch clasped in a bony claw. He yawned, with the effect that his already inhumanly long head increased in size twofold. With his ears jutting out and his jaw hanging open he looked for all the world like Nosferatu. Greenbow was missing. My watch said seven – he’d be wondering why I hadn’t been to see him yet.
‘Winning yet, Dash?’ I asked.
He jumped, dropping Hurley’s cards. ‘It’s about to turn in my favour.’ He smiled, leaning back in his chair and rearranging his hand.
‘Not been swept away by the tide?’ asked Clay, voice slurred.
‘Wouldn’t want to miss your ninetieth birthday, would I?’
He scowled. ‘We’re celebrating my team’s achievements.’
Marie put the iPad down and jumped off the sofa. ‘The upgraded decontamination procedures work!’ she exclaimed, walking over to give me a hug before I could protest. ‘The worst-affected areas are showing clear!’ Her accent had grown noticeably thicker; probably a correlation with the almost empty glass in her hand.
‘John, grab a glass!’ said Dash. Alice looked decidedly uncomfortable with that but remained silent.
‘He only drinks Scotch,’ said Clay, waving his own glass and spilling it down his sleeve. He refilled it from a hip flask extracted from the folds of his cardigan, then added, ‘In fact, go and get the champagne from the kitchen.’
Was he ordering me around now? Between him and Greenbow I was beginning to lose my patience. Not much longer, I told myself. I held my tongue, backing out of the room.
As it turned out there was a bottle of prosecco in the fridge. No stemware in the cupboard so I grabbed five tumblers. I’d just returned to the lounge as Hurley jogged up behind me.
All eyes turned to him eagerly.
‘Did Ingrid radio in the final results?’ asked Alice.
‘Yep, she’s still finishing up at Vollum. Gambetta’s filling them in on his data. Ford passes on his congratulations.’
Clay nodded
his approval. Ford, I knew, was the head of PDBRG, his boss back at Porton Down.
‘So what’s the verdict?’ asked Alice.
Hurley crossed the room, retaking his seat opposite Dash. ‘Still stuck here for the duration, unfortunately. He wants more tests running.’
‘But he was pleased?’ asked Marie.
‘Mais oui, il était très heureux,’ Hurley said, beaming like a puppy that’d just sat for the first time. Yes, he’s dead happy.
Marie laughed. ‘Better, but it’s “trezeureux” – don’t pronounce the “h” and when a word ends in an “s”, run the words together.’
‘Well, he was pleased.’
Clay looked at the bottle in my hand. ‘Yes, well, champagne!’
‘Prosecco, I’m afraid.’
‘Same thing, give it to me, you illiterate northern imbecile.’
Clearly someone was still pissed off about being put down by Greenbow in front of me earlier. ‘It is most definitely not the same thing, Clay,’ I said, holding the cork and twisting the bottle. Now don’t get the wrong idea, I’m not stuck up my own arse – I just hated the man.
I filled a glass and held it out to Clay, who snatched it from me. ‘Yes, well, of course a drunk would know.’
‘Says the man with a glass in each hand, eh?’ I said. ‘You stupid old bastard,’ I added under my breath, filling another for Hurley. Marie took one for herself and handed another to Alice.
‘I hope you didn’t bring a glass for yourself,’ said Clay. ‘Didn’t Greenbow want to see you as soon as you returned?’
I crossed the room, pouring the last glass for Dash then swigging the remnants from the bottle. ‘Just on my way there. Have a good evening.’
Chapter Twenty-seven
KEEP CALM AND SOLDIER ON, the mug on Greenbow’s desk said. Dickhead. I’d love to see how calm he’d be if the shit hit the fan.
‘Ironic, isn’t it?’ I said.
‘What’s that?’ Greenbow tapped his pen in time to ‘The British Grenadiers’ piping out from a tinny Bluetooth speaker sitting on the filing cabinet.
‘Scotland Forever!’ I tore my eyes away from the filing cabinet and pointed at the print hanging behind his head. ‘By Lady Butler; I’ve seen the original in Leeds. Scotland Forever!, hanging on a wall on a beautiful Scottish island that’ll probably be a patch of contaminated Scotland forever, thanks to people like you.’
He stopped tapping, laid the pen next to a small stack of Rich Tea biscuits, and picked up his mug of tea. ‘I didn’t take you for an art lover.’
‘School trip.’ I saw the red file on the desk in front of him, the one with my name on the front.
‘Coincidentally, you bring me straight to the point.’ He took a sip of tea and tried to hide a wince. ‘Where did you school, Tyler?’ There was an edge to his voice and it wasn’t because he’d just burnt his mouth. ‘Halifax?’ He rolled the syllables in disgust and leaned back in his chair, staring down his nose.
‘’Alifax, it’s a silent H.’
He glared. ‘Your brother was in the Parachute Regiment?’
I kept my mouth shut.
‘Justin Tyler. Spent some time in 1 Para until –’ he put the cup down and opened the file, shuffled some papers, and looked up – ‘insubordination, disobeying orders. Related to you, that’s not hard to believe. DD in 2002.’ He pulled out another piece of paper and waved it around. ‘Since then, illegal combatant. Black-market profiteering. Arms trading. Allegations of war crimes. A fitting career for someone deemed unfit to serve, until –’ he shuffled again, extracting a photograph, tossing it on the desk – ‘he died in a godforsaken desert a decade ago.’
I already knew what photo it was but couldn’t avoid another glance. The blown-up Landcruiser. Another photo peeping out showed a hand, blood seeping into dirt, all bleached out by Middle Eastern sun. My legs were going again, I took a step backwards to lean against the wall, flexing my hands.
Greenbow hadn’t noticed. ‘And little brother,’ he continued, brandishing the papers still, ‘little brother John Tyler failed to reach even those dizzying heights. Dropped out of university. Dropped out of a naval application. Dropped out of society, it seems.’ I held my breath. Someone had been doing some research. ‘Screwing your way around Thailand on a two-decade-long gap year, no doubt.’
I let out the breath. ‘You said you had a point?’
He picked up the pen and started drumming again as the music changed to ‘Balaclava March’. ‘This, Tyler, is my point exactly. You’re an oik, a nobody. You’re not even a qualified engineer.’
‘Well—’
‘And that being the case, I don’t understand what you’re doing on my island.’
‘Square peg?’
‘Quite.’
I felt my mouth twitch, almost slipping into a smile. Unless he was holding back, he didn’t know anything. Whoever had fed him this crap hadn’t dug any deeper than publicly available records. Did he suspect I’d been in his office? No, he’d already had the file.
‘I’m here because I know a shitload more about those HADUs than you know about soldiering. I’m guessing this is your first time in the field—’
He slammed his pen on the desk, one of the Rich Teas teetered and fell, smashing across the floor. He composed himself, wiping up a couple of drips of tea, steepled his fingers, and inhaled slowly in that same way Clay kept doing. Different clothes and approaches, similar mentality.
‘Do you think I’m stupid?’
There was a very easy, one-word answer I could have given. ‘I think you’re the same officer I’ve met a hundred times before. Stupid isn’t the first adjective I’d pick.’
He pointed accusingly. ‘How do you know Alice String?’
Was he fishing? ‘When Rafferty-Nath tendered for the military contract we worked with specialists from Porton. She was one of our contacts.’
‘There’s more to it than that.’
I piled on the lies. ‘There’s some… history. It didn’t end well.’
‘You surprise me. Do you think the drinking played a part?’
I didn’t have time to invent a reply, he leapt up, chair scraping across the floor. He was around the desk and in front of me before it fell. Dark eyes bored through mine. I was acutely aware of the pistol in my waistband, and shoved a hand in my pocket to cover it.
‘Why did you lie, Tyler?’
‘About?’
‘The door. The malfunction.’
I shrugged. ‘Happens with new technology; this is a test—’
‘There was no bloody malfunction!’ he shouted. ‘Did you imagine I wouldn’t know? The fuses were the first thing I had checked!’
I had no immediate answer. His unblinking eyes continued to drill into me.
‘Your clearance is revoked,’ he hissed. ‘First light, you’re on a helicopter, and if they’ve any sense they’ll march you straight to a misconduct hearing. Until then you’re confined to quarters.’
‘You wanna know why I didn’t tell you?’ I matched his stare. ‘You have a saboteur on the island.’ I kept hold of his eyes until he moved away to look out the window. ‘You’ve got a saboteur,’ I repeated, ‘and let’s not forget the dead body, and I value my life, thanks. I’m not about to go around shouting about the fact that someone purposely disabled the HADU, whatever the reason might be.’
‘You should have come to me.’
‘And risk ending up like poor Andy Kyle? No chance; like I said, I value my life.’
‘There’s no saboteur, Tyler. I agree the fuse was purposely removed, but I’m sure there’s a legitimate reason.’
‘Look, I just want to do my job and go home, the sooner the better.’
He ran a finger down the window, tracing the path of the rain. ‘Your wish is about to be granted, believe me.’ He’d be gutted when he learned he had no chance of getting me kicked off. He removed his beret, working his fingertips into his forehead. ‘Whatever your politics, this country is in a state. W
e’re a country divided, polarised, seems we’re imploding at every opportunity.’ He turned from the window, picking and forming his words slowly. ‘And there’s been ample opportunity recently. Thanks to world and domestic events, there’s been a huge power shift. We can no longer count on the United States, and most of Europe is watching us eat ourselves, though they know there’s a good chance they’re next. Russia knows that right now we’re the weak link in the West, they continually test us, probing for gaps. A hacked department here, an encroaching flight there. On top of that, funding’s been slashed, seven departments set to merge this year alone. Workload at Porton Down Biological Research Group is dwindling. Sure, there’ll be an occasional ex-KGB spy poisoning that demands our expertise but really, will that support us? What do these people do when they’re made redundant? Not much call for analysing biological weapons on Civvy Street. Somewhere in Westminster, lists of surplus departments, surplus people, are circulating. I don’t want PDBRG to be on any of those lists, you understand?’
‘I think so.’
‘Let’s not forget that this base is on loan from the Americans, as are two of our colleagues.’
‘And?’ He was rambling, I was hoping he’d get to the point soon.
‘And after all the delays we’ve suffered on this project we can’t afford another foul-up. We’ve convinced the Americans your friend Mr Kyle’s death was down to his lack of training. He was, after all, not one of us.’
‘You’re covering it up?’
‘Understand this, Tyler; there’s nothing to cover up. He simply had an accident, didn’t take sufficient precautions. All I’m doing is ensuring the bigger boys know there were no failings on our part.’
‘And the missing fuse?’
Anthrax Island Page 10