“Put it over there,” Colonel Reed says, keeping his back to Winters and indicating with his head where he wants it.
“Yes, Sir.”
Winters takes the holdall over to an empty table which has been clearly set up ready to receive the contents of it. He places the bags onto the table, takes a step back and waits. The Colonel’s show proceeds for another minute or two before he turns and walks across.
“A successful mission then, eh Winters?” the Colonel states as he arrives at the table, closely followed by the other officers.
Colonel Reed knows full well that completing the mission has cost three men their lives; he knows everything, or so he likes to think. The Colonel had known Andy Richards for many years, back from when Andy was in the military and more lately from his dealings with Andy through his position at Orion Securities. This is of little consequence to Reed, though, as he shows no feelings of remorse for the three men, no matter how long he had known them or what effect their loss may have on their families.
The mission is everything as far as he is concerned, and to him, the mission goal was achieved as is proved by the evidence on the table in front of him. The three men’s lives are collateral damage, a means to an end that will show everyone he’s indispensable and help keep him in his position of power.
The man is a power-hungry authoritarian brute and Winters debates whether to take his sidearm out of its holster and show him just how indispensable he really is.
“The mission goal was achieved, Sir,” Winters says through gritted teeth.
“Very good Lieutenant, I knew I could count on you to get it done.”
“Sir.”
“Major Rees, let’s see what Sir Malcolm was hoarding shall we?” Colonel Reed instructs.
Major Rees is the latest addition to Colonel Reed’s entourage, his expert on the virus. And he is the man who oversaw the doomed facility and was at ground zero when the outbreak happened; he steps forward, extremely uncomfortable in his new position and he would be far happier back in his laboratory or behind his desk.
“Sir, the bag should be examined under controlled conditions, in a laboratory with all the necessary precautions taken,” Major Rees protests.
“Poppycock, Major, the bag is here, get on with it!”
Colonel Reed has no intention of giving up his prize and Major Rees hasn’t the confidence to force him to.
As if by magic, a pair of latex gloves appear in the Major’s hands and he pulls them on, his fingers wriggling into them. Gently and deliberately, he places his hands on the holdall as if the contents inside are fragile and if any wrong move is made, something inside could break and cause another viral release. Slowly, he pulls the zip along the top of the bag open and pulls the two sides apart. He peers inside the bag, checking the contents for the longest time, only his head moving as he scans. If only he knew the rough handling the contents and the holdall has already received. The contents were stuffed in without ceremony and the holdall has since been thrown around, bashed and kicked.
An uneasiness has spread around the table as the men see Major Rees’s caution. Nobody says a word, and even Colonel Reed’s bluster is retreating. Now, he is leaning back, away from the Major’s operation with a funny turned-up-nose look on his face, as if that would save him if something were suddenly released.
Major Rees’s caution does not falter. He is obviously very proficient in handling delicate and possibly hazardous materials, which everyone is relieved to see. Slowly, he lifts items out and places them in order onto the table. Sir Malcolm’s safe had contained a variety of different things—numerous paper files and paperwork—which the Major stacks in one pile. A passport, old photographs, an Omega watch, a box of bullets and four wads of fifty-pound notes, each wad containing at least two hundred notes.
“Bingo,” the Major says quietly to himself as he lifts out a locking plastic box with a dark transparent lid. Inside the box, lined up for them all to see are floppy disks, the small hard plastic types, used before computer storage went digital.
When the Major finally finishes, the table’s covered in items, and he takes a step back and clasps his hands behind him. His eyes continue to dart between the items on the table for a while until he finally looks up to Colonel Reed.
“Well Major, what is your prognosis?” the Colonel demands, leaning forward again.
“It looks promising, Colonel, but I can’t say for sure any of it will be useful until we have had a chance to go through and study the paperwork and computer storage disks, if the disks are even still viable, Sir.”
“And how long will that take, Major?”
“How long is a piece of string, Sir?”
“It’s as long as I fucking say it is, soldier,” Reed growls.
“Yes, Sir, sorry Sir; what I meant to say is, with the right equipment and the right team, two, maybe three hours until we know if there is any data related to the viral infection. We would then have to study that data if we find it, Sir.
“You have two hours to find out if there is anything useful here, Major. Lieutenant Winters will get you what you need to proceed. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir!”
Major Rees opens up the holdall again and starts replacing the items back inside, ready to take them away to wherever he will be taken by the Lieutenant. He picks up one of the bundles of fifty-pound notes, unsure what to do with all the money.
“What shall I do with this, Sir?” Rees asks, holding up the bundle just as the Colonel and his cronies turn away from the table, done with the Major for now.
“Is it relevant to your analysis, Major?”
“No, Sir.”
“Then give it to Lieutenant Winters, he will
