you were having your own problems.'
They were in a corridor again and he noticed a heavy-looking door with a small glass slit at face level.
Built into the wall over the door was a red warning light, the light itself switched off. Kate saw him look through the glass.
Would you believe they have their own broadcasting studio?' she said.
He rejoined her. 'Nothing surprises me any more.'
Through here.' She caught his arm and wheeled him into a corridor on their right. That's the repeater standby plant ahead. Not much use when no phone calls are going through.'
They passed a room where rows of batteries sat in long tanks, with rectangular copper shapes above them which he assumed carried the current. Then they found themselves in a large open area which Kate told him was the main frame room. Identical racks of complicated switches and machinery stood in rows, forming narrow corridors; here and there monitors that he recognized as oscilloscopes stood by on trolleys, fault detectors made redundant because nothing was coming into the complex. Culver glanced up and saw masses of cables held aloft by a grid network, filling the ceiling area, an occasional metal ladder leading up to them.
'How much further?'
'Nearly there.'
They finally reached a closed metal door.
'HQ,' she said, pushing through.
The people gathered in the room were facing away from Culver, studying a wall-mounted map. He noticed other maps around the room, mostly of the UK, coloured pins decorating each one. One was marked with a gridwork of thick black lines.
Dealey was pointing at something on the chart before them, stubbing a chubby finger against the plastic- coated paper as if emphasizing a point. Culver couldn't quite register what was different about the man until Dealey turned to face him.
'No bandages,' Culver said. *You can see?'
'As well as ever.' He pointed to a chair. 'I'm glad you're on your feet, but I shouldn't overdo it. Rest.'
Clare Reynolds came around from the desk they had all gathered behind. ‘You look so much better, Steve. You had us worried for a while.'
Thanks for taking care of me.' He was glad to sink into a seat.
'Kate became a dedicated nurse.'
He did not reply, but stared at Dealey instead. The Ministry man had shed his jacket but still wore a tie knotted up to the neck. Others in the room - Bryce, the ROC officer, and several others that Culver didn't know by name - were less formal in shirt sleeves and open collars. Only Farraday matched Dealey for neatness.
'It would appear we were fortunate enough to find cover just in time,' Dealey said, sitting in a chair behind the desk. The others were finding seats around the room, while Farraday leaned back against a wall, arms folded across his chest. 'A little longer and the radiation would have been too much. I want to thank you for getting me here.'
Culver brushed it aside. 'Like I said at the time: we needed each other. I'm glad your vision's okay.'
'Cleared up after the first couple of days. No permanent damage, thank God.'
Culver thought the man still looked drawn, weary, and
who could wonder at it? It was obvious that Dealey had taken leadership on his own shoulders, a responsibility that Culver didn't envy. He looked around the room and saw the same fatigue on the faces of the others. Perhaps the doctor had been right: he, Culver, had been well out of it for the past few days.
We don't know much about you, Culver, except that you can take care of yourself pretty well.' Dealey was frowning, as if the compliment wasn't easy. 'May we ask what your occupation was before the attack?'
'Is it relevant?'
'I can't say until we know. We are a small group and any individual skill could be useful for our survival.
There will undoubtedly be other groups - whole communities, in fact -and I would hope eventually all our resources will be pooled. For now, though, we have only ourselves to rely on.'
Culver smiled. 'I don't think my, er, particular occupation will help in those circumstances.' He added, almost apologetically but still smiling, 'I fly helicopters.'
Dealey leaned back in his seat and said, 'Ah,' the sound an interested sigh.
'Had my own outfit, nothing big. Just me with a partner to run the business side of things. Another pilot and a small ground crew. Nothing fancy.'
What did you carry?' Farraday asked.
'Freight mostly, passengers now and then. We operated out of Redhill, convenient for London and the South, but I wouldn't say we were a threat to Bristow, the big helicopter company based in the same area.' He was smiling wryly.
Farraday was interested. What type of machines do you have?'
'Only three. Like I said, we're a small company. Our biggest is a twin-engined Westland Wessex 60, which we use
- sorry, I keep forgetting - used for carrying freight and aerial crane work. It could take up to sixteen passengers, so it came in handy for transporting businessmen, trade delegates, or work crews across the country. We've even carried a few rock bands and their entourages to gigs, not just for speed and convenience, but because I think they liked the impression it made. There was a smaller machine, a Bell 206B, that we used for smaller jobs, mostly surveys and freight It carries four passengers, so we used it as our 'executive' transporter.'
For a moment, Culver looked wistful. The baby was my Bell 47, just big enough to carry two. I've taught a lot of people to fly in that old machine, maybe not up to CAA-approved standards, but good enough so they'd never be a danger to themselves or anyone else. I rigged it up so I could spray crops too, and got a lot of work from local farmers.'
He found Dealey gazing at him in a peculiar way and realized the man was literally seeing him for the first time (unless he had visited him in the sick bay, which Culver somehow doubted). Whatever physical attributes Dealey had associated with Culver's voice were now being confirmed or denied.
'Just as a matter of interest,' Farraday said, 'what brought you up to London last Tuesday?'
'I've been trying to raise money for a new chopper, an old Bell 212 that Bristow was selling off. They weren't interested in leasing so I had to scrape up the cash. My bank was finally convinced the company was good for it.'
‘You were asking for a loan from your bank wearing a leather jacket and jeans?' Dealey asked incredulously.
Culver grinned. 'Harry - my business partner - was the man who wore the suits. Besides, most of the begging had been done; the idea of the meeting was to clinch the deal.'
The grin disappeared. 'I was running late, something Harry couldn't stand too well. He must have been there, at the bank, waiting for me. Probably apologizing to the manager.'
'He may have been safe inside the building,' Dealey said, realizing what was going through Culver's mind.
Culver shook his head. The bank was close to the Daily Mirror offices. When we were out there I saw there wasn't much left of the Mirror, nor the buildings around it.'
A silence hung in the air, a silence that Culver himself broke. 'So what happens now? I assume the reason for this meeting is to discuss our future.'
Farraday moved away from the wall and sat on a corner of Dealey's desk, his arms still folded. That's correct, Mr Culver. We need to formulate a plan of action to cover not just the weeks we'll have to stay inside this shelter, but also when we leave.'
Culver looked around the room. 'Shouldn't everybody be involved in this? It concerns us all.'
Bryce, the CDO, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 'I'm afraid a situation is developing between us, the
