by Andy Lucas
Sticking to back roads, heading deeper into the countryside, he made sure he kept well within speed limits so as not to attract undue attention. They pulled onto a dirt track leading up to a seemingly derelict farmhouse about half an hour later. The heavy rain had kept most traffic off the roads so they made it without incident.
The farmhouse had a large barn adjacent, with only one door hanging loosely, the other flat in the mud nearby. Driving straight inside this rickety outbuilding, Baker eased the car right up to the far wooden wall, stopping between two bales of straw. He switched off the engine and a strange, eerie silence descended upon the car’s occupants.
Hammond was the only other person in the car who knew what to expect next because he had used several safe houses during his time with Britain’s most lethal covert service. He smiled as he felt the floor begin to sink beneath their wheels. Very slowly the concealed platform dropped eight feet through the ground before coming to rest in a concrete underground room. Dimly lit with low wattage fluorescent tubes, set into niches at the tops of the walls, Pace half expected Baker to switch on the headlights. Instead, the security chief restarted the engine and inched the car clear of the platform, driving over to a couple of marked parking bays. This time when he killed the engine, he told them all to get out.
Stretching stiff legs and smarting from grazes and glass cuts to their exposed flesh, the team watched the platform silently rise back into position, clicking very softly. No sooner had the click sounded than the room was flooded with brilliant white light as the illumination level was ramped up to full power, revealing an empty room almost thirty metres square. Resembling a concrete bunker, it was completely barren except for Baker’s car and a heavy steel door set into one of the walls.
Baker strode over to the door, which had no visible handle, and pressed his thumb against a small acrylic pad set into the concrete next to it. Without a sound the reinforced steel door swung open towards them, just slowly enough for the unwary to step back and avoid being hit. As it swung past her, Sarah noticed that it was almost six inches thick and had been resting within a steel frame that looked just as sturdy.
‘Looks like this thing could withstand a nuclear blast,’ commented Pace. ‘Swings outwards too. Security measure?’
Baker nodded.
‘How is that a security measure?’
‘The door can’t be forced inwards,’ Pace answered Sarah’s question before Baker could. ‘The door is physically larger than the frame, so sits against it rather than inside it. It can only be opened from someone inside or blasted open.’
‘And it is manufactured to be blast-proof,’ added Hammond. ‘In fact, the weakest part is the foot-thick reinforced concrete wall that surrounds it. Still,’ he smiled, ‘it would take a heck of a lot of explosives to breach it.’
Pace had seen similarly heavy blast doors on a few nuclear aircraft bunkers while serving as an RAF helicopter pilot. He recognised the same grade construction in the door. This was no simple safe house, he knew. It had been designed to withstand a powerful, direct attack by a determined enemy. It was a little bit more evidence, not that he needed any, of how seriously the McEntire Corporation played its game.
Behind the door there was a short corridor, this time lit by a single bulb sunk into the concrete roof. It was barely wide enough for two people to stand side by side, ending after five feet at a set of steel lift doors. The thick blast door clanged shut behind them and Sarah experienced a momentary feeling of claustrophobia within the dim, confined space now created. There was another thumb reader, which Baker activated, and the lift doors opened immediately. They all stepped inside. Moments later it hummed into life, dropping them another five levels before coming to an almost imperceptible halt.
The feeling of cool air, derived from a wide open space, wafted over them as the lift doors slid open. Stepping out onto office-grade blue carpet they found themselves in a huge open space, well-lit, circular and roughly sixty metres in diameter. The ceiling was twenty feet above their heads, carved from solid stone, as were the smooth grey walls. But that was as far as austerity went.
In the craziest open-plan design that Sarah had ever seen, everything they could possibly want was clearly laid out before them.
‘Bloody hell,’ breathed Pace. He’d never dreamed that a safe house could be fitted out like a five-star, no more like a six-star hotel room.
In the centre of the huge room was a large modern kitchen, kitted out like a restaurant, gleaming with stainless steel and polished cream floor tiles. Three large double ovens, sixteen hobs, two gigantic refrigerators and a monstrous chest freezer sat comfortably amongst acres of granite worktop, complemented by two dozen walnut cupboards sunk beneath them.
The outer areas left them all gaping, especially the sumptuous lounge, swamped with expensive cream leather sofas and reclining armchairs, and a small cinema, complete with a row of fifteen cinema-style chairs facing a gigantic 200-inch flat screen television.
There was a well-equipped gymnasium, sporting a dozen of the most modern cardio and weight-training machines but the most stunning element was an empty sunken swimming pool, ten metres in length and five metres wide.
Filling the rest of the space around the outer circle were a half dozen wooden buildings, resembling garden summerhouses. Single storey, built from expensive cedar, they were all identical, boasting large double glass doors that allowed a clear view of the double beds tucked away inside.
The final area sat on a raised platform, dead in the centre of the room, above the kitchen. Accessed by a set of spiral metal steps, beautifully engineered in titanium, the platform was topped with a black glass dome about ten metres in diameter.
‘This place is incredible,’ breathed Sarah, dumbstruck.
‘Not really,’ disagreed Hammond, beaming. ‘It’s just your standard McEntire safe house. Everything you need to survive for months, if not years, fully protected.’
‘I was impressed the first time I ever saw one,’ agreed Baker. ‘It wears off after you’ve had to be stuck in one for a few weeks. Then,’ he added, ‘all you crave is fresh air and the feel of the wind on your face. Or even a steaming, mosquito-infested jungle,’ he cocked an eyebrow at Pace, who grimaced.
They moved into the room, with Hammond and Baker taking the lead. Hammond hit the kitchen and opened the freezer, stacked to the brim with every frozen delicacy imaginable. Pace spotted some lobster tails and crab claws, mixed with sides of meat, steaks, chickens, vegetables and bread. Pace was not surprised to see that the refrigerator was empty; restocking fresh produce regularly would have attracted far too much attention. Once food had been defrosted though, including plastic bottles of semi-skimmed milk, it could be kept fresh for several days.
While Hammond drew fresh water from the kitchen tap, which he explained linked to a sunken 500,000 gallon tank that had its own purification and filtration system, Pace noted Baker heading straight for the stairs. He followed hard on his heels and caught up with him at the top, stepping onto a solid steel platform, circular like the dome, and barely any larger. In fact, there was no room to walk around the dome; the couple of inches where the platform exceeded the dome diameter gave only enough room for a thin, three-foot high metal railing that encircled the entire platform.
‘This looks intriguing,’ Pace offered. Having experienced the secret spy base that the McEntire Corporation had tethered above the Amazon canopy, and now living in an exact replica of one himself, he was not surprised. There was no noticeable door in the dome, the surface looked polished and complete but it was clearly meant to be used by people – it was far too large to be there for no reason.
‘This is the nerve centre and final protection zone,’ Baker answered his question before he had time to mouth the words. ‘Last ditch defence. If you end up in here, chances are you aren’t getting out alive.’
‘That’s what I love about you,’ muttered Pace. ‘Full of the joys of spring.’
‘Believe me,’ e
xplained Baker, stepping forward and pressing his palm against a barely discernible print reader on the dome’s skin, ‘if an enemy is able to penetrate through the walls and steel to actually breach the central room, the security dome isn’t going to stop them.’
‘So why have it?’
Baker paused, speaking in a very matter-of-fact manner. ‘It just gives you some time to destroy any sensitive documents or equipment you may be carrying and then, perhaps, decide whether you want to end your own life before the enemy breaks in and does it for you.’
‘Sounds like you end up dead anyway.’
‘Death comes to us all,’ lectured Baker. ‘The manner of death is something very different. This way, at least you can choose a quick, painless death by putting a bullet between your own eyes. Some enemies will rejoice in ensuring your death will be slow, agonising and, very often nowadays, videoed and shared on social media.’
Pace watched a hidden door slide open silently and he followed Baker inside. The dome was crammed on every interior surface with curved television screens and monitors that showed images from two dozen hidden cameras, both inside the safe house complex and all across the external areas of the derelict farmhouse and barn. Half a dozen metal seats faced the main control consoles and, ominously, a large steel rack of weaponry stood to one side. Open-fronted, without any restrictive chain, several squat black automatic rifles, shotguns and two RPG launchers waited the final showdown. Large amounts of ammunition accompanied the weapons, as did at least 30, army-green, RPG rounds. This was indeed all about a fight to the death.
Pushing aside the renewed reminder of the McEntire Corporation’s seedier side, he left Baker to his toys and went back down to join Sarah, who lifted his spirits immediately with a hug and a warm kiss.
‘Glad you’re alive, babe,’ she meant every word and he gave her a tight squeeze.’
‘Likewise.’
‘Ah, yuk,’ laughed Hammond, pouring several mugs of delicious Twinings Assam tea that he’d found in one of the cupboards. ‘Get a damned room!’
‘Not a bad idea,’ agreed Pace, eyeing up the nearest summer house. ‘Shall we?’
‘Tempting but we’d better all get cleaned up first. You know, get our cuts and grazes sorted out. Then,’ she added mischievously, ‘I’m all yours.’
‘Well, at least have your tea first,’ said Hammond. ‘I’ve had to use powdered milk for now, until the fresh milk thaws out.’
‘It will have to do,’ smiled Sarah, giving him a hug too. ‘Anyway, we all need a bit of repair work, you included.’
It was true. Hammond had a couple of cuts on his face and one by his left ear still had a small sliver of glass clearly embedded. They had all been very lucky that the McEntire Corporation had covertly modified James’s Landrover, fitting an anti-car bomb shield beneath the floor. Designed to absorb a blast, and direct debris upwards rather than outwards, it had worked perfectly. Although some small shrapnel had blown outwards, it was kept to a minimum and reduced the blast fragments to a survivable size.
Baker joined them in the lounge area and a couple of large medical kits were opened. These were army field kits and able to deal with most eventualities, even emergency amputations as suggested by the small bone saw, needles and surgical thread. Fortunately, they only had to use the disinfectant wipes, antibiotic cream and plasters.
Once suitably repaired, the team drank a second cup of tea together, quietly reflecting on events so far.
‘That was a huge explosion,’ opened Sarah.
‘A professional job,’ agreed Baker, with a dispassionate, professional air.
‘So, the only question to answer is who the hell wanted us all dead so badly that they planted a car bomb?’
Pace settled back in the long sofa, smiling to feel Sarah place a hand on his leg. Was it to reassure him or because she needed reassuring?
‘I would need to get the science boys to have a look at the wreckage but my guess is that Semtex was used.’
‘Terrorists?’ Pace asked.
‘Not likely,’ replied Baker. ‘We keep a close eye on all terrorist activity, at home and abroad, in conjunction with similar organisations. If we were being targeted by any of the known groups, we would already have been warned. This was a risky operation to set up. Planting a bomb in a very short time window, while you were all in the pub, with the hit team waiting around to make sure you were all dead. They could have been discovered at any time.’
‘So, someone wants us dead very badly. Is what you’re saying?’
Baker pondered Sarah’s question for a moment before responding. ‘You were all targeted by someone, or a group, with access to military-grade resources, intelligence and money. I’m guessing it is linked to your recent trip to Namibia and to that corpse you found bobbing up and down in the ocean.’
‘You mean the desalination company?’ Sarah was incredulous. ‘Why would they want to kill anyone? I know James was a little rough on their CEO but it was only words. We parted on amicable terms.’
‘Not everything is as it seems,’ explained Hammond quietly.
Sarah considered the idea. ‘If they are hiding something illicit, our visit may have spooked them, I guess. Maybe they know we found the body and think we’ll keep digging?’
‘It’s possible,’ agreed Pace, ‘but let’s stick to what we know. Doyle McEntire must have had a suspicion that we would be targeted or he wouldn’t have recalled you from the Balkans to come and guard us.’ Baker did not attempt to deny that he had been pulled off, mid-mission. He kept his expression neutral. ‘That tells me it has to be linked to the seaman’s diary, the gold and more likely, Scorpion. The only person who can tell us what is really going on is your father, Sarah. We need to speak to him.’
Hammond and Baker exchanged a look. Protocol forbade direct communication between the field and McEntire himself in an emergency, using the encrypted satellite phones that each of them now carried. The safe house, however, had its own direct communication lines that were so heavily secured they had never yet been compromised.
‘That’s why I went straight up to the dome,’ explained Baker. ‘Each dome has secure lines and I’ve already spoken to him. He is fully aware of the situation at the pub and he knows where we are. The media, as expected, have gone crazy and the explosion is all over the news, worldwide. A couple of customers have been treated for injuries caused by flying glass and one has a broken leg but nothing worse.’
‘Did my father say who did this? What does he want us to do?’
‘If he knows anything about who did this, he didn’t share it with me but, to be honest, I didn’t ask. My main concern is impending risk and what we do next to stay alive’
‘Which is?’
‘Stay put, for now. We are perfectly safe here. He has to arrange an appropriate cover story before we can reappear.’
‘I don’t envy him there,’ said Pace. ‘A car bomb, destroying a car that is registered to me, and a dead hit team of black-clad killers strewn around the wreckage. How do you spin that in a way that is vaguely credible?’
Pace was about to receive another lesson in how effectively the McEntire Corporation operated.
‘Firstly, the car was not registered to you but to a known underworld enforcer for an eastern European drugs cartel. The explosion bore all the hallmarks of an inter-gang assassination attempt. Luckily, the intended victim avoided the blast. That is the story.’
‘That won’t explain the dead bodies,’ Pace muttered.
‘The bodies were removed before the police arrived and any witnesses that might have seen anything have been…er…spoken to about the need to keep quiet.’
‘I know emergency response times get a bad press nowadays,’ added Pace, ‘but how could the bodies have been moved before the police got there?’
Hammond cleared his throat. ‘We have our own recovery and clean-up teams, stationed around the country. None of the calls or emails to the authorities would have been allowed through un
til after the recovery team removed the bodies.’
‘One of the customers is bound to let the cat out of the bag, aren’t they?’ asked Sarah. “It would be impossible for it to stay secret.’
‘Not if they value their freedom,’ Baker disagreed quietly.
‘Or their life,’ added Hammond.
‘So they have been threatened?’
‘If we are to remain an effective organisation, complete secrecy must be maintained. Anything that jeopardises our ability to protect the United Kingdom from harm, or stops us being able to help protect the stability of the wider world, is a threat that we will neutralise.’
Pace felt his tea churn a little in his stomach at the realisation that the McEntire Corporation would be utterly ruthless in protecting itself from discovery.
‘Would they be killed if they went public?’ he asked, fixing Baker with a clear gaze.
‘Yes, if they couldn’t be persuaded otherwise. But,’ Baker smiled, ‘it rarely gets to that point because most people take national security seriously and, contrary to a lot of current media reporting, British citizens take pride in being British and will largely do whatever they can to protect Queen and Country.’
‘Silence also tends to come with the added bonus of a tax-free cash payment, which helps keep things civilised,’ explained Hammond. ‘The rough stuff is genuinely a last resort, so don’t concern yourself, James.’
‘Don’t forget,’ Pace frowned, ‘I’m new to this game. I agreed to stay in the McEntire Corporation so that I could use my skills to help protect people, not to hurt the innocent, so I guess I will just have to trust you.’
An awkward silence settled on them, with everybody focusing their attention on their tea for a few minutes. Inside, Pace knew that the McEntire Corporation did vital work and that in any war, as this truly was, there was collateral damage. Sighing, forcing a grin, he pushed the unpleasant feelings aside and decided to concentrate on their own predicament.