“My father’s board of directors contacted me last night by email. They’re impressed with the way Liverpool—the facility at Bidston Hill in particular—has performed throughout this real and present danger to the whole planet.” He broke off with a grin. “And I can guess which member of the board insisted on using that melodramatic phrase. Still, the whole shootin’ match had a lot of media coverage in the States this past month.
“As a result, the board authorised me to offer financial backing and any practical assistance you may require to rebuild and repair throughout the region. They believe Liverpool has the potential to be a major port for both cargo and tourist trade.”
“Eddie, you’re our number-cruncher. What’s your take on this?” Dave wanted to know.
Eddie waved one hand briefly as he juggled numbers in his head. It could have been a plea for patience or a signal of total surrender. After a few seconds, he took a deep breath and glanced around.
“The finances we’re talking about, nationally and from Europe, are promising in themselves. Further investment from the US, courtesy of Errol’s family business, is really the icing on the cake. I can’t factor it into the overall picture without some idea of the size of the investment, but it will certainly sweeten the deal.”
“I have a suggestion for you,” Errol said. “It’s something I’d have to put before the board, but I think they’ll be amenable. One of our subsidiaries specialises in site clearances. I propose we invite them to tender to dredge and maintain the riverbed, keep it navigable for the cruise terminal and make it possible to develop a commercial harbour. Like I say, the company is more than willing to offer practical assistance as well as finances. By improving and maintaining shipping lanes on the Mersey, they’re creating employment for their own workforce as well as performing a vital service for Merseyside. It’s a win-win for everybody involved.”
“Lady and Gentlemen, if there’s no further need for my presence…?” Brigadier Groth half-rose from his chair.
“We’re grateful for your time, Sir,” Joey murmured in deference. “Permission to email you with details of any significant developments?”
The brigadier nodded his agreement and slid his chair neatly back into position. With the same formal nod he’d used to greet them, he turned smartly and almost-marched out of the room.
“Do we have a sitrep on publicity?”
“Sure, Eddie, but no need for the military jargon now the brig’s left us.” Dave grinned. “In brief, there isn’t a lot we can do before whoever is calling the shots gives us the green light to beat the drum and, hopefully, bring home some new business and investment. I’ve made notes, but that was before Errol threw his company’s hat in the ring.”
“’Scuse me, but the hat you’re a-talkin’ of belongs t’ ma paw. I’d never try to claim the company as ma own,” Errol drawled in a not-too-serious attempt at self-mockery.
“Noted, Errol. The offer makes a significant difference, and I’ll have to find a way to show how much our position is improved, but there’s no rush to get that done. I can have a statement ready as soon as we get the go-ahead.”
“You’ll have to excuse me as an ignorant Yank if this is a dumb question,” Errol cut in again, but this time, there was no frivolity in his voice. “I’ve never completely gotten the hang of your political system in the UK, but back home, the statement you’re talking about would be delivered by the president and simulcast on every TV channel. We call it a State of the Nation address. D’y’all have anything even like that in the UK? And if so, my next question is, who’s got the chutzpah to carry it off? Surely not the present prime minister?”
“Hardly!” Dave said. “And offhand, I can’t think of any of the current shower of House of Commons deadbeats who could pull it off.”
“Nor me, Dave, but I can see you doing it.”
“Me? You’ve got to be joking. My old Latin teacher’d be spinning at a rate of knots in his sarcophagus at the very idea. He warned us that becoming a ‘paid politician’ was the worst fate that could possibly befall anybody.”
Dave’s horrified rejection of Errol’s proposal produced a ripple of genuine laughter that stilled abruptly when the door flew open and Brigadier Groth re-entered, clutching his mobile.
“We’re not out of the woods yet. It’s fortunate none of you have left, and I have to remind you that you’ve all signed the Official Secrets Act.”
He paused, closed the door and made sure it was locked before moving closer to the table but didn’t resume his seat.
“My taxi didn’t even make it as far as Lime Street Station, which is fortunate, as I’d have been obliged to turn around and recall this team.”
“Sir, all the tests over the past four weeks—”
“Confirm a job well done, Doctor Hart. Yes, the Enemy Within has been dealt with, and the world already owes you for that.
“Now there’s a new and completely different problem, one which I’m sure you can deal with just as well. No interruptions, please.” Groth raised his hand against Joey and Dave’s simultaneous intakes of breath. “On this occasion, at least we have the…luxury, I suppose, of having rather more time available, but we’re going to need every hour of every day.
“The intel I have on this is unquestionable and comes from multiple sources. We managed to prevent our planet blowing apart due to pressure from within. The work you did as a team was extraordinary, magnificent. Choose whatever adjective you like, none are good enough to describe your efforts, especially working against such a desperate timetable. This time, we must look outwards, or upwards, not down below the deepest known rift in the seabed.
“Radar telescopes have detected a mass of unimaginable size at the extreme limits of our vision. Calculations confirm it’s heading our way, and the likelihood of a direct impact is very high—almost guaranteed, in fact.
“A mass this size will inevitably influence gravitational forces, even if it doesn’t actually strike Earth. We have a time slot of approximately one year—a full orbit of the sun—before these effects will start to be felt. That is all the information I have at this moment. A more detailed report will be available later this evening. You have a track record of working well as a team. Your comments, please.”
For an optimistic fraction of a microsecond, Dave dared to hope the brigadier was testing them for some unfathomable reason only he could justify, but Groth stood ramrod-straight and silent, his body language unambiguous. He’d made his statement and demanded a response.
“This is déjà vu, all over again.” Errol’s slow drawl broke the silence just as it was on the verge of becoming unbearable. There was a hint, but no more than that, of amusement in his voice as he continued.
“With respect, Sir…” Joey began. “Yes, we managed to function as a team for the duration of the emergency we all lived through. I’m in the privileged position of only having myself to consider, and the finances to do as I damn well please, but that’s not the case for everyone else. Dave and Brenda, for example. They’ve had no privacy, no time to themselves since it all began, and we all have family somewhere out there.”
“Perhaps we do—at the moment,” Groth agreed. “But family and a lot more besides will become meaningless twelve months from now unless a solution to this new threat can be found and implemented.
“We can learn from experience. This threat isn’t the same. It’s approaching from above, or from somewhere outside our solar system, not from the planet’s core. This time, we gain nothing from keeping it all under wraps. Everything has to be done openly and with total cooperation and agreement from every side. Otherwise, human nature being what it is, sooner or later, someone will attempt to throw a spanner in the works, and we can’t afford the luxury of delay.
“Frankly, there isn’t another team I’d trust—not one which has already gelled as a unit, doesn’t need to be assembled and trained to work together, and has a mix of skills and non-technical instinct, which you’ve already proved you h
ave between you. Some of your outside-the-box guesses have been crucial and came at times when a large slice of random luck was sorely needed.”
The brigadier looked directly at Brenda as he said this. She blushed and accepted the implied compliment.
“We’re starting from a stronger position, with more time to plan and the resources of the whole world available. I need the best team to coordinate the million and one things which will have to be tackled along the way, and you are the best team.”
Eddie had been slumped in his chair throughout the exchange. Since he’d joined the others in the Bidston Hill bunker, he’d more than pulled his weight but somehow managed to remain isolated, a loner.
Now he raised his head from his arms and looked around. “Yous all know the score wi’ me,” he said in a monotone. He paused as if reprimanded by an invisible advisor, then blinked, squared his shoulders and continued in a far crisper, more decisive manner. “I appreciate I’ve been a bit of a wet blanket most of the time. Even before I began that long drive home from Spain, I knew there was no job waiting for me and an empty house I couldn’t afford payments on unless I found another job right away.
“Being on this team’s what kept me going, you know? Showed me I still had some real mates,” he said with a special nod at Dave. Brenda, sitting next to Dave, felt guilty being included in Eddie’s grateful acknowledgement but didn’t interrupt. Eddie clearly wasn’t finished yet.
“So I’m all for it—carrying on as a team, that is. ’Cause even when—if—we pull this off and I get to go home, I’ll not be surprised to find the house repossessed and a few broken bits ’n’ pieces of furniture dumped in what used to be my back garden. You can count me in, Brig…Sir.” Eddie sank back in his chair and pulled out a large handkerchief, blowing his nose long and hard to cover his embarrassment.
Groth looked at Dave, who automatically reached across and squeezed Brenda’s hand. He felt the tiniest trace of confirmation in Brenda’s fingertips and didn’t need to see the positive nod she gave Groth when his eyes flicked from Dave to her. “If you’re satisfied with what we’ve achieved to date, Sir, we’re happy to carry on.”
The whole interchange had taken only a few seconds, but it was time enough for Eddie to regain control of his emotions.
Groth cleared his throat. “Doctor Hart. Probably the most important person on the team—I daresay the leader—but we haven’t heard from you. Do you have anything to add? Any commitments, personal matters, family or housing problems you need to organise?”
“No, Sir. Last time I checked, every direct debit I set up with my bank is still being paid, and on time, and what family I have is spread around pretty thinly. There’s just one suggestion I’d like to make.”
“Name it.”
“Critical readings from weather stations in any region which is still reporting extreme weather conditions. Local temp, wind speed and direction, barometer readings. I need them at regular intervals—hourly would be ideal, but that’s probably asking too much. It’s pertinent to my current research.”
Groth said nothing but nodded for Joey to continue.
“I propose we move back to the Bidston Hill site, if they’ll have us, and base the whole operation there. My lab at the university doesn’t have all the equipment and facilities we’d need. We also need a plan of action. You said the mass is expected to come crashing through our solar system in twelve months’ time. Realistically, we have to be in a position to launch something powerful enough to destroy it—or at very least turn it far enough to prevent a direct hit—in a far shorter time than that. Six, eight months tops, I’d say.”
“Agreed,” Groth said. “And this time, we’ll all be in the one place, which will save time and improve security. I’ll make a few phone calls. I suggest you pack whatever you feel you’ll need and be prepared to move out within—” he looked at his watch “—two hours? I’m sure I can have the transport available by 1800 hours.”
***
The transport vehicle was a standard military wagon, driven by Tom. Dick and Harry occupied the passenger seats. When they arrived at Bidston Hill and unloaded their personal gear, they entered the observatory through the discreet side door facing the riverbank. The three-man security team wore their usual combat fatigues, devoid of nametags or other ID labels. For the first time Dave could recall, they carried weapons when they climbed out of the cab and stood easy inside the access door.
The civilian day shift was assembled in the largest available room. Once Groth had confirmation that all staff members were accounted for, he sorted the sheep from the goats. Everyone with any sort of family at home was dispatched, with an assurance of full pay, and told to await instructions regarding future shift patterns. A skeleton crew of eight singletons remained. Groth had a stark ultimatum for them.
“Your colleagues with family commitments will continue to receive full pay until further notice. If any of you choose to leave now, you will be treated in the same manner, and there will be no recriminations or penalties imposed once the present crisis has been resolved.
“We will need all the extra manpower we can retain. If you choose to remain, you will be required to sign the Official Secrets Act and observe all the terms and conditions this entails. I can only reveal the details of this operation to those who opt to remain and realise that I am, in effect, asking you to sign a declaration of commitment without knowing precisely what you’re agreeing to, but I’m afraid I have no easy option to offer. This is an international emergency that will require liaison through key personnel around the world, and there is a need-to-know affecting not just national security.
“I am prepared to allow you a few minutes to reflect, but I must have an answer this evening. You can discuss the matter as a group if you wish, or retire to think about your options in private, but I need to know what you decide by 1900 hours.” He looked at his watch. “That’s thirty-four minutes from now. You can leave to collect your belongings from home, but please ensure that you have everything you require with you when you return. This facility will be in lockdown until further notice.”
The group of technicians glanced at each other. None of them seemed inclined to stand up or leave the room. One of them murmured something, and they formed an untidy, heads-down rugby scrum. Less than a minute later, there was a flutter of movement which looked suspiciously like a swift rock-paper-scissors decision. One of the group stood.
“My colleagues have asked me to inform you of our decision. We’re in.”
A brief ripple of applause from the rest of the group confirmed the decision was unanimous.
The brigadier nodded in acknowledgement. “Excellent. Now, while I supervise what needs installing for efficiency, is there someone with a good grasp of the basic supplies in this bunker? We’ll start with food—canned, dried, salted, I don’t care as long as it hasn’t spoilt and still has a decent shelf life. Bottled water. First-aid supplies…”
***
“Does the brig ever sleep?”
“Errol, I’m not even sure if he eats or uses the bathroom.” Dave had slept half a dozen times since entering the bunker and was convinced someone had ripped a fortnight off the calendar outside their triple-bolted microcosm. Groth had insisted they all remove their watches and refer only to the clock times displayed on computer screens and wall clocks mounted in every communal room.
“He must have a wardrobe master’s storeroom full of identical uniforms,” Errol remarked. “He’s always perfectly dressed. I swear you could get a nasty cut from the crease on his pants.”
“Trousers,” Dave said automatically. “In the UK, pants are your undies. That or a slang word meaning ‘rubbish’.”
“Damn. I knew that. I’ve lived here long enough. But here’s another thing. He never has a five o’clock shadow. When does he disappear long enough to shave or change clothes?”
Groth had been ever-present in the control room, or so it seemed. Phones rang non-stop, yet whenever the operator was st
ruggling with a difficult or reluctant caller, he was invariably there to bark a command and ensure he got what he wanted.
Days, provisionally demarcated by sleep periods, flowed one into another. Coloured pins appeared on a map of the world, predominantly red to begin with. Gradually, they were replaced with different colours. Some went directly to green, others became yellow for a while, but by the end of the seventh or eighth sleep, the tempo of the changes had picked up. Most pins were now green, and the remaining red pins were few. Tom, Dick and Harry took responsibility for plotting the precise position of each pin. They referred to printouts for this. The coordinates were twelve-digit figures as opposed to the six-digit navigation standard.
“Strange how many weapons were overlooked when we asked for contributions to seal off the Mariana Trench,” Groth mused as the last red pin in the Australasian sector turned green.
“But will we have enough firepower?” Dave took a mug of coffee from the tray Brenda was carrying. Groth hesitated a moment, then helped himself to a bottle of water.
“The sooner we can get a first wave of missiles into position and programmed the better.”
Dave felt honoured. He hadn’t really expected an answer. The brigadier stuck rigidly to his guns as far as the need-to-know mantra was concerned.
“Once my weapons team has worked its magic, we can calibrate the onboard guidance systems and send this lot on their way. That will create some breathing space.” Groth suddenly clammed up, as if realising he was very close to contravening his own strict rules.
“Breathing space?” Dave said, papering over the split-second hiatus as if he hadn’t noticed it. “You mean there are more weapons? Why not send them all at once?”
Groth sighed. “Because they’re still under construction. Everything you see on the map is already in a silo or on a ship. One of the first things I did was to authorise production of more missiles at every munitions factory with the necessary equipment and personnel. With any luck, we should have a similar number of MLBMs—that’s modern large ballistic missiles—ready to go in under a fortnight. Travelling such vast distances, they’d catch up with the first-wave weapons long before they reach the target zone. Following closely in the wake of the first wave rather than catching it up will also work to our advantage. The last thing I want is to nudge one and set off a harmless chain reaction in the middle of nowhere. And now I’ve broken my own rule by telling you something you don’t ‘need to know’, I probably ought to shoot you, but as long as you give me your word this will go no further, I’m prepared to give us both a break.”
Taking the Heat Page 24