“Please wait here, Captain.” The Lieutenant says, before making his way over to the door leading into the conference room.
As he disappears, I look closer at the other people stuck on the outside with me, checking to see if I recognise any of them. I don’t, so I start milling about with them and wait. A few people go into the room and a few come out. And still, I wait, some staying nearby whilst others leave. All who leave do so with purpose, obviously to go carry out their orders.
Time moves on, and I eventually take a seat at 0545, realising I won’t be there when Emily wakes up if she hasn’t already. I take comfort knowing Josh is with her, but it then strikes me that I actually don’t know that for sure; how can I? I’ve been gone for an hour and a quarter, a fact that makes me very edgy. Josh could be anywhere now, as could Alice; they are still serving soldiers and could be back with their units or have been given new postings with another unit. In fact, the more I think about it, the more likely it is. When’s this bloody debriefing!
Finally, at 0553, the Lieutenant emerges from the door and thankfully heads my way.
“Sorry for the delay, Captain, please follow me.”
I get straight up and do exactly that in some futile attempt to speed things up.
“Please take a seat where I show you, Captain, and wait until you are called upon,” the Lieutenant instructs during the short walk to the entrance.
The room is indeed a conference room and when I enter, it is dark, the only light coming from the open door that is soon closed and from two large TV screens. The room is a rectangle, the blinds are closed, blocking the windows that would be overlooking the runway, along with the blinds I was looking at from outside that cover the long glass wall.
The Lieutenant shows me to one of the empty seats, which run straight against the blinds on this wall. He picks up a thick pile of folders from the seat to my left before he sits on it, putting the folder on his lap. In front of me is a large oval table with about twenty-five seats around it, all occupied. And past that are the two TV screens which are showing some drone video footage of some of the devastation in London. I can’t make out anybody seated around the table because they are all facing away from me, unmoving, looking at the screens.
It suddenly dawns on me what area of London we are viewing and my stomach fizzes when the drone flies over the Orion Building. The triangular building is unmistakable; I can even make out our exit hole that we blew into the roof!
“Thank you, that’ll do, lights please,” an authoritative male voice says from a central position on the other side of the table.
As the chairs on the other side start to swivel around to face the table, the lights come on and someone turns the TV screens off.
Now able to see the people assembled—at least those on the far side of the table who are now facing me—I recognise more than a few of the faces, all of which are looking gravely in my direction. There is a mix of mid- to high-ranking officers scattered around the table, and I immediately see two Generals, a Brigadier and two Majors I have worked with. Colonel Reed is away to my left and looks as serious as ever halfway down the table. The centre of the table, however, is overrun with politicians, some I’ve met, the others I have seen on the television. And sitting in the very centre of the table right opposite me are the Home Secretary and the Defence Secretary. I now realise I recognise the voice of the man who gave the instruction to turn the lights on; it is Gerald Culvner, the smarmy Home Secretary.
“Is this the retired Captain that led us a merry dance yesterday, Colonel Reed?” As soon as Gerald Culvner finishes his sentence, the urge to get up, go around the table and break his nose is hard to resist, but I do.
“It is the Home Secretary,” the Colonel says.
“So, Captain,” the Home Secretary says, leaning back in his chair but unfortunately not falling out of it. “The Colonel tells me that you insist any information Sir Malcolm would have had about this virus would be on his computer, which we have drawn a blank with… or in his safe in the Orion Building. Please elaborate.”
Again, suppressing my urge, I get up and address the table. “I am afraid I cannot elaborate much; I was unaware of Sir Malcolm’s previous posting connected to this virus until the Colonel told me over the phone yesterday. I am unaware of him keeping any files connected to that time or related to the virus. I merely told the Colonel that if he had indeed kept any files, they would either be on his work computer or in his safe.”
The Home Secretary thinks for a second and then asks, “And why are you sure that’s where they would be?”
“As I told the Colonel, Sir Malcolm did not take work home with him.”
“Well we have the computer, which we have hacked into and there is no information on it, so according to you it must be in his safe?”
“No, I did not say that. I said, if he kept files, they would be in one of those places,” I say bluntly.
“And why didn’t you get the safe as you said you would, Captain?”
“Because the safe was secured to the floor, the building was infested with these Rabids, or Zombies, whatever you want to call them, and they were about to break through to our position… and it was too dangerous to try, especially with the personnel and equipment we had. Would you have had the receptionist or my
