Once we have passed the large terminal building, Dan takes us right and we fly over the perimeter fences and move into the airport grounds, which comes as some relief.
We are heading towards a wide expanse of concrete in front of a cluster of massive hangars just to the side of the South Runway. The concrete is already filled with other helicopters, rows of Apache Attack helicopters and Lynx/Wildcats are lined up neatly ready for action. There must be close to 100 helicopters altogether, including the larger tandem-rotored Chinooks lined up on the grass verge between the runway and the concrete.
Dan takes us down towards the helipad which has been set up just to the side of the grass verge, the large circled capital H painted onto the tarmac there. He is being directed down to it by one of the ground crew.
As we make our final approach, two camouflaged Land Rover Defenders emerge from one of the hangars followed by a white minibus. They speed across the tarmac towards the helipad and come to a stop just short of it. The doors of the 4x4s swing open and six soldiers jump out from the vehicles, all of them carrying automatic rifles.
“We have a welcoming committee then,” Dan points out.
“No surprise there,” I reply.
“How do you want to play it, Dad?” Josh asks.
“We will play it their way for now. As long as they take us to Emily and the others, that’s the important thing right now,” I reply to everyone.
Dan descends towards the centre of the helipad which the six soldiers are now encircling; they are all crouched down on one knee with their rifles pointing up at us, following us down. Something tells me we are not the first visitors they have welcomed like this today.
The Lynx touches down gently, and Dan immediately kills the engines and then puts the rest of the cockpit to sleep.
“Everybody stay put while I go and talk to them,” I say.
Leaving my M4 behind in the cockpit with Dan, I pull the latch on my door and swing it up and open. The helicopter’s rotors are just coming to a gentle stop as I climb out using the small step that juts out from the side of the Lynx, a foot or so below the cockpit door. My feet hit the tarmac of the helipad together. It feels good to have solid ground under me and not be worried about any Rabids about to attack.
I turn and take in my surroundings for a second; the soldiers that surround us are now standing but still have their rifles pointed inwards, in our direction. Beyond them are the Defenders and the minibus, and then virtually filling my sight behind them is the massively long hangar. Away to my right is another long hangar. Both of these are busy, with both people in military uniforms and people in civilian airport uniforms doing their jobs. A plethora of airport vehicles criss-crosses the open expanses between the hangars and the swarm of helicopters parked on the concrete on my left. The vehicles are carrying supplies of—amongst other things—fuel, ammo and missiles. Behind me, I hear another plane coming in to land, which from its sound, I would guess is a Hercules transporter. In fact, the general buzz of sounds whirling around in the air is just what you would expect at any busy airport, and this airport is busier than any on the planet right now, I think it is safe to assume.
My concentration returns to the soldiers that have come out to greet us, or more likely arrest us, one of whom has moved a short distance towards me in front of the others. I start walking confidently towards him as I assume, he is in charge.
“Hands on your head!” the soldier orders.
Ignoring his order, I continue to walk towards him. I need to show him my authority if I am going to have any success in bending him to play this my way.
The soldier, who I can now see is a sergeant, again barks his order at me more vigorously this time, but I still don't comply and am now not more than ten feet away from him. I can see that he’s unsure of what to do. He gives a slight look to his side, checking that his team is still there backing him up which gives his uncertainty away still further.
At about five feet away, I come to a stop, not wanting to push him too far and not wanting to risk this getting out of hand.
"Sergeant, I'm Captain Andrew Richards, Special Operations and under the orders of Colonel Reed, I'm going to get my ID out for you, okay?" I dispense with the Military Intelligence term because normal squaddies have an inherent mistrust of anyone attached to that particular department of the British Army.
A slightly smug look crosses the sergeant’s face, however.
“There is no need for that, Sir. We are here to take you into quarantine, it doesn’t matter if you’re a General or a Private. Everyone from offsite goes in quarantine. Get the rest of your people out here immediately, Sir.”
There is no point in trying to argue or antagonise them further; these men are here for one reason, their lives and everyone else’s on this site depend on them doing their jobs properly.
“Understood, Sergeant, I completely understand. One of my team is injured and may need some help.”
“Is he badly injured or can he walk? If he can’t get into the minibus, then another team will have to come and get
