'Come, come, Sam. Argus? Satellites?'
'Oh. Ah.'
'Yes. We run a software program that plots the course of every known manmade object in earth orbit. It's alerted us that a US military Key Hole optical reconnaissance satellite is due to pass overhead within the next few minutes. Discretion is necessarily one of our watchwords at Bleaney Island. Last thing we want is the Hundred- Eyed One spotting what we're up to. Crimps in plans don't come much more serious than that.'
'Then we'd better get under cover,' Sam said. She relayed the message over the comms link, and the eleven recruits converged on the bunker entrance.
Ramsay flipped up his visor. 'What's this I see? Can it be Sam Akehurst? Miss I'm Never Going To Get The Hang Of This Shit? Look at you now, strolling along all smug and ooh-la-la. I'm guessing someone's made a breakthrough.'
'That she has,' said Landesman.
'Good news,' said Ramsay. 'So, you on-side now? You with the program?'
Sam shook her head noncommittally.
'Come on. The ten of us here, I think it's safe to say we're all of a like mind. Isn't that so, guys? We want to keep at this. We want to keep working with the suits and get our hands on some of that ordnance as well and pull together as a unit and then, when we're ready, go out and kick some Olympian butt. Yeah?'
The others voiced their assent.
Ramsay fixed Sam with his gaze. 'We want to be Titans,' the Chicagoan said. 'We want to put the smackdown on those sick, self-righteous sons of bitches, and get ourselves a little payback into the bargain. Any way you slice it, it's a worthy cause. But — and I'm speaking for all of us here, and I'm not afraid to admit that we have been discussing you behind your back, Sam — we're keen for you to come to the party as well. In fact, not just come, but we're kinda hoping you might agree to be the hostess.'
'I'm sorry?'
'Dumb analogy. Didn't work. What I mean is, how about you running the show? Being the top dog. El jefe. The big kahuna. Numero uno. I'm going to have to spell it out, aren't I? Our leader.'
Sam recoiled. 'No. Oh, no, absolutely not. Me? Lead? No. I'm not the right material. Far from it.'
'I'd beg to differ.'
Lillicrap started making desperate ushering motions. 'We really don't have time for this. Everyone, please, into the bunker. Now. You can carry on your conversation in there.'
'Nope,' said Ramsay, not moving. 'This brother's not going anywhere. Not 'til Sam says yes.'
'Me either,' said Mahmoud.
'Likewise,' said Hamel.
The rest agreed.
Lillicrap threw a pained glance upwards. The mist had almost completely gone. The air was getting clearer by the second, the blue of the sky less pale, the cold sunlight stronger.
Landesman, for his part, appeared highly intrigued by this turn of events, and not a little gratified.
'What's it gonna be, Sam?' said Ramsay. 'What's the answer?'
'It's going to be thanks but no thanks. Why not you, Rick? You should be in charge. Everyone pays attention to what you say. They're doing it right now.'
'One, I'm a grunt, a jarhead, a born footsoldier. And two, I'm just a loudmouth. Folk may listen to me but they don't respect me.'
'Too bloody right they don't,' said Barrington.
'You, Sam, are respected,' Ramsay said. 'I know this. Granted, it's early days for all of us. We've only just begun. But if we don't get the top slot filled now, we maybe never will.'
'I don't want the job.'
'Want it or not, you're the only one suitable.'
'I implore you…' Lillicrap said. He was hopping from foot to foot like a child with a full bladder.
Sam looked at the ten faces before her. They were firm-set, adamant, unanimous. How had this come about? Until today she'd been the least competent among them, unlikely to last. Not only that but she had minimal experience of giving orders. As a detective sergeant her role had been to follow her DI's lead and do much of his legwork for him. The rank carried authority but mainly that of someone else, in her case Inspector Dai Prothero. Uniformed officers had done as she asked but really only out of courtesy, deference to the man under whose aegis she sheltered. DI 'Do Or Dai' Prothero had been a grave, commanding presence. A guv'nor. A natural boss. And thanks to him, Sam had realised she was not. It was a skill she hadn't yet developed and had been hoping to learn from him by example.
And here, now, was this thing, zooming in at her utterly out of the blue, this weird mutiny-in-reverse, where ten people were united, militantly refusing to budge, their complaint not that someone had misgoverned them but that someone was reluctant to govern them.
What could she do? She could, under the circumstances, only give in.
'All right,' she said. 'Under protest, and on condition that if it turns out that I don't meet up to expectations I can step down any time — I'll do it.'
Lillicrap puffed out his cheeks in relief, and the Titans let out cheers.
'Good choice,' Ramsay muttered to Sam as they went into the bunker.
'Was it?' she replied brusquely. 'Was it even a choice?'
11. SUPERIOR
Days passed, merging into one another, and became weeks, which also merged into one another. The majority of the training was conducted underground, and was rigorous and intensive, so that come evening the Titans were so exhausted, it was all they could do just to eat supper and crawl into bed. Lights out, lights on, and then another few hours of suit practice and weapons drill, and then to bed once more, over and over, ad infinitum. Sessions in the upper world, the land above, were infrequent. Not only were reconnaissance satellites an issue but there was always the possibility of, as Landesman put it, 'eyeball observation' — people on a passing yacht or the crew of a trawler or freighter catching sight of men and women roving across the rugged slopes of Bleaney Island in bizarre armour.
There were the locals to consider as well. People on the mainland were aware that something out of the ordinary was going on over on Bleaney. A few years back they'd seen construction crews travelling back and forth to the island from the harbour, plus heavy equipment getting transported across. Rumour was that the old bunker had been converted into some kind of top-secret government research facility where they were investigating alternative fuels, cold fusion, something along those lines. Lillicrap primed Captain Fuller with a flow of titbits of information that supported this rumour, without ever revealing any of the truth to him, and the captain of course was only too happy to spread the insider knowledge around after a pint or three down at the pub. It wouldn't do, therefore, for the battlesuits to be glimpsed in action, which would be just conceivable for someone on the mainland with a decent telescope, and it certainly wouldn't do for the noise of weapons fire to be overheard, particularly as sound carried a long way across open water.
Sam found this largely subterranean existence, this involuntary hibernation in a manmade cave, hard to cope with. She pined for daylight, vistas, fresh air. Any chance she could get, she sneaked up out of the bunker, just to be able to spend a few minutes on the beach watching the breakers pounce on the shingles, smelling the brine, and examining the detritus washed up on the foreshore — tangles of kelp, empty crab shells, plastic bottles and six-pack holders and scraps of fishing net. Even at night-time, even in rain, it was good to get outdoors. It was a relief to be away, however briefly, from battlesuits and guns and scrutiny.
Scrutiny, because her fellow Titans were looking at her, judging her every word and deed, trying to gauge how well she wore the mantle of leadership and whether in electing her they had chosen wisely. She didn't know what they wanted from her, so she behaved as she thought a leader should, offering commendation and
