by Heide Goody
She stood beneath the smoke alarm in the centre of the room, held up her lighter and flicked it on. There was no response. She wasn’t the tallest of woman and perhaps her flame was too small and too distant to register. Quickly, she dragged the toilet bin against a cubicle door, piled on paper towels from a dispenser and lit them from beneath with her lighter. She piled on toilet tissue and further paper towels, and was pleased to see eager flames licking up the cubicle door moments later. As an afterthought she lit a cigarette from the edges of the fire and stepped out of the toilets as the alarm started ringing.
She turned the corner and pulled up short as she saw Francis sipping on a glass of beer.
“What? How?”
“The weceptionist was vewy accommodating.”
“Come on!” she said. “We need to find the others.”
Chevrolet pulled her car over outside an office block. Stepping out, Matt looked over the car roof at the aircraft carrier in dock.
“I can’t get over the scale of these things. And it looks as though it’s armed to the teeth,” he said.
“Twenty mil cannons, Aster surface to air missiles, and, of course, a complement of Rafale fighter jets and Cougar gunships. Are you interested in military hardware, Officer Rose?”
“Only when it’s in the wrong hands.”
“The Charles de Gaulle is about to set sail for the Persian Gulf,” said Chevrolet. “Other ships are already underway. The only reason that one of the nuclear submarines, the Inflexible, is still here is because it was undergoing maintenance, but it will be off soon as well.”
“Leaving you with a mere smattering of frigates and patrol boats.”
“We need to ensure that the nation is secure, even with a crisis elsewhere in the world.”
Chevrolet escorted Matt inside the building, returned the officer in reception’s salute and led Matt through to an office with maps on the walls and a tidy desk in the centre.
“Please sit,” she said.
Matt did as asked.
“I’m going to share some information with you,” said Chevrolet. “Information that if you share it outside this base, I will utterly deny having ever shared with you.”
“Okay,” said Matt slowly.
Chevrolet took a folder out of a drawer and opened it.
“Let’s run through some of the things that have happened in recent days, shall we?” she said. “Let’s start with Senegal.”
“The forest fire?”
“The forest fire.”
“I heard about it on the news. They were hazy about what started it though.”
“Well, there’s a reason for that,” said Chevrolet.
“Oh, wait. Are you saying that there was some tie-in with the French military?
“Part of my work for the DPSD is press liaison, so we were able to exercise some damage limitation on that one.”
“So it was caused by your lot somehow?”
“I will not be making any such statement now or ever,” said Chevrolet, and turned over the page. “And your friend Joan claimed to have been warned about it?”
“She said she got a phone call from Simon. She is a little bit fanciful though, is Joan. Did you know she’s obsessed with Mathew Broderick movies? I think she’s acting out War Games if I’m honest.”
“Then there’s the ship fires off Karachi.”
“That picture from the International Space Station was gobsmacking.”
“Yes. The sea all ablaze, especially after the fuel spillage from the abandoned vessels.”
“The second trumpet,” said Matt. “According to Joan, anyway. Said she heard it coming out of a ticket machine in the Gare de Lyon in Paris.”
Chevrolet jotted down some notes, in her neat and meticulous hand.
“So you said that you heard one of these trumpets yourself?” she asked.
Matt hesitated, reluctant to add to this catalogue of craziness.
“Well, I definitely heard something. It was from inside the wolf. He must have swallowed a phone or something.”
“Do you remember what it said?”
“It was very muffled, major. Looking back now that I’ve checked the Bible, I think it was all about a third of the day being without light, but I’m worried that I’m colouring in my memory with all of this Revelation stuff.”
“I can understand that,” said Chevrolet. “I’d be thinking the same thing in your position. You have to admit though that it’s tempting to link it up with the disastrous oil fires in the Middle East. The sun blotted out for millions.”
“Anyway,” said Matt. “There’s one of the trumpets that Joan says she heard that we’ve seen no sign of. Nothing at all. That makes it all coincidence and hearsay, if you ask me.” He put his hotel Bible on the table and flicked through. “This is the third trumpet.”
“That’s the one where a star called Wormwood falls to Earth and poisons a third of the planet's rivers,” said Chevrolet.
He was about to agree with her and then stopped.
“Hey. You said you knew nothing about this Biblical stuff.”
“I did not say anything of the sort,” she replied. “I merely appeared ignorant. Quite different. Do you know what wormwood is?”
“No. Sounds a bit Harry Potter-ish to me.”
“It’s a plant. The one that’s used to make absinthe.”
“I see.”
“And did you also know that the Ukrainian for wormwood is Chernobyl?”
Joan and Christopher clattered down the corridor as fire bells rang, but their progress was impeded by patients and staff also making their way to the exit. Joan wondered for a moment if her outfit might cause some problems for them, but as they passed a ward labelled Bonaparte they were joined by people dressed in crowns, togas and horned helmets.
“My people!” Joan called, and pushed her way to the front of the crowd with her sword held high. A cheer went up from the other patients.
As they neared the exit to the stairs the way was blocked by a woman and two men in uniform.
The woman raised a hand.
“Evacuation procedures must be followed, ladies and gentlemen. All patients will be accompanied outside by a member of staff. Form an orderly queue here and await instructions.”
“The building is on fire! I can smell smoke!” shouted a man in a velvet coat and a tricorn hat.
“Procedures will be followed,” insisted the woman.
Joan turned to the crowd.
“Brothers! Sisters! We need to get out, and I think we all know that procedures won't help us here. Let's go!”
She led the charge and the patients hollered and whooped as they ran at the three hospital staff. Elbows and knees jabbed them aside and they pushed through the door and out onto an external metal fire escape. Joan peered over the side and nudged Christopher as the others steamed past them and down the stairs.
“There's loads of police down there,” she said. “How will we get away?”
The sound of sirens filled the air, and Christopher tapped the side of his nose and he indicated what was coming down the street.
Em and Francis were finding it very difficult to make their way into the hospital when so many people were coming out. They had fallen back to a first floor hallway to discuss the problem.
“The alarm has worked well,” said Francis. “A real fire couldn't have got a better reaction.”
“Yeah, about that…” said Em.
“What?”
“There is a real fire, I lit one. Can't you smell the smoke?”
“Isn’t that howwibly dangewous?”
“It did the job. Don’t complain.”
“Look down there, I can see a problem.”
She indicated through the window to the number of police and hospital staff who were escorting patients away from the exits.
“Joan won’t be able to get past the police,” said Em.
“I might have an idea about that,” said Francis, looking further along the street.
<
br /> Joan watched as the fire engine turned the corner, its sirens whining as it approached the burning building. She saw the vast pack of dogs run out in front of it as they shot out of a side alley. Was that the Wolf of Gubbio at the head of the pack? The fire engine swerved to avoid them but wasn't able to recover from a skid. It mounted the high kerb, plunged across the garden and came to rest below them. Somehow the extending ladder had swung free and swivelled round so that it came to rest against the fire escape. Christopher winked at Joan and they both clambered onto the ladder.
Em and Francis ran downstairs and round to the fire engine. Em held a hand out to the fireman in the driver's seat and, as he instinctively reached out to help her up, she yanked him out of his seat and climbed up to take his place. Francis opened the door on the passenger side and managed to dodge out of the way just as Em swung across and booted the remaining fireman out.
“Nice team work,” said Em.
Francis was working the ladder control.
“You dwive, I'll sort this out. Oops.”
Joan and Christopher hung onto the end of the ladder as the fire engine reversed back over the trampled gardens. Several hospital patients were waving cheerily at them.
“What's going on?” yelled Joan. “Why don't they lower the ladder?”
The ladder swung from side to side with the two of them hanging on as they dangled over crowds of people and thrashed through the branches of the low trees.
“Nearly got it,” yelled Francis as Em concentrated on driving. “I think this one is up and down and this one is side to side. Oh. Maybe it's the other way wound.”
Joan and Christopher snatched their legs up as the ladder bounced towards the ground. Sparks flew from Joan's armour as she was dragged along the ground beneath the ladder. To add further insult, she found herself being used as a stepping stone by a vast number of dogs who were running after the fire engine. They jumped onto her and scuttled up the ladder. Last of all came the Wolf of Gubbio who made it up onto the fire engine in one clear leap.
“Bloody Hell,” came Christopher's voice. “This can only be Francis's work. I wonder if he might rescue us now the dogs are all safe?”
Sure enough, the ladder lifted from the ground and slid gently back into place, leaving Joan and Christopher to cool their heels on the fire engine. Literally in Joan's case.
Francis shuffled over as Christopher and then Joan swung in through the window and into the cab.
“Did you like what I did there?” said Christopher. “A fire engine eh?”
“Yes, but it was me who made the dogs wun out in fwont of it,” said Francis.
“Pointless them doing it if I hadn’t summoned the big red truck in the first place.”
“Which wouldn’t have been in any position to wescue us without our fuwwy fwiends.”
“Okay, okay,” said Em. “You’re both wonderful. Get over it.”
“Ten-four, Mama Bear,” said Christopher.
“And why have we got so many dogs with us?”
“The wolf has made fwiends,” said Francis happily.
Each of the dogs sat with their tongues out and enjoyed the way that the breeze ruffled through their fur as they travelled along.
We have joined forces with the humans who share our mission. Ready yourselves for action and be true to the cause.
Bravery coursed through them, fed by the exhilaration of the ride.
“Oh,” said Christopher suddenly. “I made a friend too. His name’s… actually, I had to knock him unconscious before he could tell me his name but he could see me.”
“How come?” said Em.
“Russian bloody Orthodox, wasn’t he?”
“Makes sense,” said Francis.
“Yeah, speaking of friends,” said Joan. “I thought I’d left you all behind in the forest.”
“You thought you could complete this mission without us?” said Francis.
“It’s hardly run smoothly.”
“But we’re a team,” said Christopher.
“The Thwee Bears.”
“What?” said Joan.
“You can be Goldilocks,” he added.
“Guys…” said Em.
“You didn’t tell them, did you?”
“Tell us what?” said Christopher.
“Look, guys…” said Em.
“Simon is the French military computer system,” said Joan.
“Simon who prayed to Heaven?”
“This is all very interesting,” said Em, “but look…”
“You don’t want them to know that this is all your fault, huh?”
“No. Look! We’ve got company!”
A police car, lights flashing, was drawing up rapidly beside them. Christopher looked into the wing mirror at the further posse of police cars on their tail. He coughed and every single one of them developed instant and irreparable engine problems.
“Sorted,” he said.
“Thanks, travel-boy,” said Em. “Now, the lights.”
Christopher looked at the red traffic lights ahead of them. He blinked and they turned green. Every single one of them on their route lit up green to speed them out of the city. When a voice broke in over the vehicle’s radio, speaking of four bound angels, monstrous horses and the death of a third of mankind, Christopher only drove faster.
“Chernobyl means wormwood?” said Matt.
“The star, poisoning the land and rivers,” nodded Chevrolet.
“Really? But surely that would be well known, after the Chernobyl disaster.”
“Actually, the Revelation connection is well known in some quarters of the internet. I had a linguist check it out for us, in case it was an old wives tale, and it’s perfectly true. Because the plant wormwood is bitter and poisonous, it seems a natural fit with radioactivity. There are lots of people who really do believe that the Chernobyl disaster was the third trumpet.”
“But that was back in the eighties,” said Matt.
“Eighty-six, that’s right. We have something much more recent to worry about. Two days ago, a train carrying radioactive waste was derailed as it crossed the river Dnieper. The entire course of the river downstream from there, right down to the Black Sea has been contaminated. Three hundred miles.”
“What? Surely those transportation units must be able to withstand a crash? That’s crazy!”
Then Matt realised that he knew the answer.
“Oh no. You were about to tell me that the derailment was caused by a missile strike on the train.”
“I was not about to say any such thing,” said Chevrolet. “I would never implicate my country in such a terrible act. Besides, it wasn’t a missile strike. If it was anything, it was a deep cover Special Forces Brigade unit which demolished the bridge.”
“Why would they do that?”
“Acting on a coded order sent by, well, by no one.”
“Someone in France is making all this happen,” said Matt.
The French major pulled a face and tidied away her papers.
“Currently, these are identified as individual incidents. Unconnected.”
“But you and I know they’re not. Why can't you just turn Simon off? Stop him doing any more damage.”
“You can’t turn Simon off any more than you can turn off the internet or turn off the navy. Simon is a system, not an object and certainly not an individual.”
“That’s bull-poo, major. We’ve been talking about something operating off a set of very specific instructions,” said Matt, waving the Bible at her. “Those instructions are somewhere. Simon many have influence over the entire French military but he – I mean, it is located somewhere specific.” He stopped. “It’s here, isn’t it?”
Chevrolet simply looked at him.
“One of these buildings,” said Matt. “The cause of all our problems – yours, mine, everyone’s – is on this base.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Yeah?”
“It won’t let us turn it off.”
Matt laughed involuntarily.
“Oh, now that’s crazy. It won’t let you? Did it put its foot down and sulk?”
“It appears that some of the circuitry has been overridden. Aside from physically destroying the system, we can’t do anything.”
“You know, you do have some big guns here, major. Pass me the bazooka and I’ll do it myself.”
“If we destroy Simon, we leave France defenceless.”
“Oh. I see,” said Matt. “So Simon’s beyond your control and you're out of ideas?”
“I'm never out of ideas,” said Chevrolet quietly. “I just need some better ones. Now you see why I am so interested in what Joan’s involvement is. At the very least, she is extremely well informed. That makes her a person of extreme interest in my investigation.”
“So you’re going to turn to a delusional teenager for answers?”
There was a knock at the door.
“Come!” said Chevrolet and then to Matt, “If she doesn’t have answers, she’s a security risk at the very least. She is going to be escorted here under armed guard. If our worst fears are realised then we cannot have anyone with knowledge of Simon’s malfunction running off at the mouth. All potential leaks must be silenced.”
The officer who entered the room passed Chevrolet a piece of folded paper.
“So, all potential leaks also includes Mary van Jochem,” said Matt.
“And yourself,” said Major Chevrolet. “Don’t forget that.”
She scanned the officer’s message and then gave a start.
“When?” she demanded loudly.
“In the past hour,” said the officer.
“What is it?” said Matt.
Chevrolet glared at him angrily.
“Little Miss Joan of Arc has escaped from a secure mental hospital in a…” – Chevrolet struggled to get her words out – “in a fire engine.”
“That's got to be the naval base,” said Joan, pointing excitedly.
“Well spotted, Joan,” said Em. “Those big ships are a dead giveaway.”
“So it looks as though we're supposed to stop here at this gatehouse,” Francis. “Shall I ask for a glass of water again? It worked quite well at the hospital.”