Terminal (12 page)

‘That's because the Styx are continuing to target news dissemination,' Parry interrupted, ‘by jamming the frequencies so nothing gets through.' As he took a breath, Chester used the opportunity to speak.

‘So it's bad, is it?'

Parry gave a humourless chuckle. ‘Bad doesn't begin to describe it. No one trusts anyone else, mainly because they're frightened and very hungry. Imports have stopped so food's scarce, and in any case the transport infrastructure has ground to a halt.'

Parry shook his head. ‘There's rioting and looting everywhere in the country because what's left of the police force have all but given up. People are hiding in their homes, army towns are putting up fortifications as though they're minor fiefdoms, and gangs of vigilantes are taking it out on the nearest minority they can get their hands on. It's as though the country's been thrown back into the Dark Ages.'

‘But what's the government doing about this?' Stephanie asked.

‘They haven't got the faintest idea how to put things right,' Parry replied. ‘And it's no good going to anyone in Europe for help. They're terrified that it's going to spread to them, so they've simply shut us out.'

‘Then our attack on the warehouse didn't do much to stop the Styx,' Chester said.

‘No, unfortunately,' Parry replied. ‘When the Rebeccas hightailed it, one twin remained Topsoil with a Styx female, while we believe the other travelled down to the inner world. So everything that Eddie warned would happen is becoming a reality.'

Much as Chester wanted to shy away from any of this, he couldn't stop himself from asking the inevitable question. ‘You're talking about the Phase?' he said.

‘We delayed it with our assault on the warehouse, but that only had the effect of cranking it up a notch, maybe into something even worse. Here on the surface it's more than just Limiters and Darklit humans we're up against now. They've got the Armagi with them too.'

‘What are they like?' Stephanie put in.

‘They look like Limiters until they transform, then they look like nothing on God's Earth. They're extremely effective killing machines, whatever environment they're operating in. I know that because we've seen them in action.' Parry suddenly sounded very weary. ‘And as for how precisely we deal with them, I have to admit we don't have any answers at present.'

Stephanie opened her mouth to speak again but Parry cut her short. ‘I don't know how long we'll be safe here, because the Armagi may have detected my chopper on the way in. And also our latest intel is that the Styx have commandeered a number of key radar installations.'

‘Not safe here?' Chester mumbled.

‘Yes, so I want you all to get your things together. You're clearing out with me when I go.'

‘We're really leaving?' Stephanie said, trying her best not to sound delighted.

‘Yes, but not right away. Chester, I need you to come somewhere with me first. And make sure you wrap up warm,' Parry said, already making towards the door.

‘We're going outside?' Chester said unenthusiastically, throwing a glance through the window at the gathering darkness outside. ‘Do I really have to come?'

‘Yes, I need you with me,' Parry replied. From his tone Chester knew that it wasn't an option for him to refuse, however unwilling he was to get involved again. ‘We're going to RV with some contacts of mine. And don't bring a weapon with you – better that you're not armed,' Parry added, before rapping his walking stick once on the floor, then turning to the front door.

Chester followed Parry's advice and put on a thick jumper and his warmest jacket. As he emerged from the cottage, the man was talking on a satphone, but it was different from the one he'd been carrying inside. He held up a hand to indicate that he needed to finish the conversation, turning slightly away so that Chester couldn't hear what he was saying.

As the chill wind bit into him, Chester began to boil up inside; much as he respected Parry, he was done with all this. He was just summoning the courage to tell Parry this, so he could go back inside, to his nice warm bed, when the old man abruptly ended the call.

‘We need to get our skates on,' he said, marching off across the gorse-covered field in the direction of the sea. With a groan, Chester followed after him. Parry was putting on a turn of speed and barely using his walking stick as they approached the cliff edge. And he seemed to be very familiar with the lie of the land as he followed the cliff along to where a track led down. The full force of the wind was on them now, and Chester was struggling as he negotiated the steps hewn into the rock. There was a thick rope to hang on to, but it was still a daunting task with only Parry's dim torch to light the way. Then they arrived at the bottom.

‘Keep your arms at your sides and your hands open,' Parry
told Chester, raising his voice to be heard over the bluster of the wind. ‘And don't make any sudden moves. You have absolutely no reason to be alarmed by what's about to happen.'

‘Alarmed … but what
is
about to happen? And why do I need to be here anyway?' Chester demanded, unable to keep the antipathy from his voice. He hadn't actually agreed to any of this, and now he was standing on a windswept beach in the dark. He just wasn't ready to become embroiled in another of Parry's schemes. The last one had resulted in everyone almost running out of air in the Complex, after that madman Danforth had blown up and killed his parents.

‘Look, I'm sorry to drag you along, old chap, after all you've been through,' Parry said, giving Chester's arm a squeeze through his duffel coat. ‘But this is important, and you are important.'

He pulled Chester gently after him as he set off down the incline of the beach. As their feet crunched on the pebbles, Chester strained to see if anyone was there, his eyes slitted against the spray from the sea. But he couldn't see a soul on the foreshore, which disappeared off into the murky darkness to either side of him.

Parry stopped dead once they had covered about half the distance to the sea, then clipped his torch to his jacket.

‘Now put your hands on your head. Slowly,' he said to Chester. ‘And just relax. You're going to be fine.'

Chester reluctantly followed Parry's example, part of him feeling very apprehensive, and the other part bitterly resenting this intrusion into his life. Into his grief.

‘Callsign Delta Echo,' Parry suddenly announced loudly, then said the words again at even greater volume so they
would be heard above the sound of the wind and the crash of the waves.

From somewhere close by came a harsh, efficient response. ‘Yankee Alpha.'

Shadows suddenly came to life all around them.

Chester glimpsed black-clad men bristling with weapons before his arms were seized and wrenched behind his back. He felt a tie go around his wrists, binding them tightly, before a hood was slipped over his head.

It was so evocative of the brutal way he'd been treated in the Colony when he was sentenced to Banishment that he began to struggle against his captors, twisting his body away from them.

Someone whispered into his ear, ‘Calm it, junior, or we knock you out cold.' The voice was American, and Chester had no doubt that the man meant what he'd said. He let his body go slack, closing his eyes under the hood, and allowing himself to be led down the rest of the beach and then into some sort of boat or inflatable. The vessel was tossed around by the waves as the low drone of an outboard started up, then he felt the forward motion. He was on the move.

Five minutes later, the vessel bumped into something, and he was hoisted out by men on both sides of him, his feet meeting with a firm surface. As he was frogmarched a short distance along it, he was telling himself that he must be on a ship, then the two men drew him to a halt.

‘Hoods off and untie them,' another American voice barked.

As his hands were freed and the hood was whisked from his head, Chester blinked, trying to make out where he was. A diffuse red light percolated through the sea spray. The light
seemed to be coming from somewhere above. ‘Arms out wide, bud,' one of the men beside Chester ordered, and he immediately obeyed.

The men searched him thoroughly, feeling along his arms and legs, and even telling him to lift each foot so they could check the soles of his boots. Then they produced some sort of scanner, which wailed to itself as they passed it over his body, particularly concentrating on his stomach. Not far away he could see Parry was going through the same treatment.

‘All checks done. He's clean,' one of the men beside Chester called out.

‘Ditto this one,' someone from Parry's escort reported back.

‘Head for the ladder,' Chester was told, as he was steered in the direction of the light.

Whatever he was on, it was pitching in the sea like something of considerable size. It wasn't a ship – he was certain of that. The larger waves were washing straight across duckwalks on its deck, and the only structure he could vaguely make out as he came closer to it was around forty feet in height.

In the glow of the red illumination he spotted some large white letters on the tower that loomed out of the misty darkness before him.

USS Herald,
Chester read. Then the penny dropped. ‘A submarine?' he asked incredulously, as he began up the metal rungs on the side of the conning tower. ‘We're on an American submarine?'

‘Yes, my friend, you're a guest on one of the US of A's finest, most awe-inspiring nuclear subs,' a gruff voice behind him drawled.

‘Not much moving tonight?' Eddie asked.

‘No. Nothing in or out,' the man on the scope said, not looking up.

Several observation posts had been set up in buildings around the periphery of GCHQ, the government installation often referred to as the ‘Doughnut' because the circular structure so closely resembled one, and Eddie was now checking in on each of them. This observation post had been established in the attic of an abandoned house, in which part of the roof had been removed so that there was an unobstructed view of the government installation several hundred yards away, one of the few that the Styx had yet bothered to put out of action. And this observation post was typical of all the others, consisting of one of Eddie's former Limiters and a member of the Old Guard, who between them were carrying out the around-the-clock surveillance.

Moving to the opening in the roof, Eddie peered out at the lights in the Doughnut. Although London seemed to be receiving the brunt of the Styx attacks, he suspected it was only a matter of time before they did something about GCHQ as it continued to operate. The threat, when it came, would be from outside and not from the staff at the installation itself, because the moment that Parry's first reports warning of Dark-lighting had been lodged with the military, the Director of GCHQ had had the foresight to put into action the centre's lockdown measures. Parry and the Director had known each other for several decades, so the Director had no doubt that it was something he should take seriously. He doubled up the personnel on all the access points to the Doughnut, put an extra military perimeter around it and, crucially, he had implemented the use of Purgers for all incoming personnel long
before most other sensitive locations had done the same.

And now, as the member of the Old Guard scanned the approach road through his binoculars, a cup of steaming soup from his Thermos within easy reach, Eddie took a last lingering look at him.

The Limiter, sitting in the corner of the attic, stirred from his trance-like state as he heard Eddie's voice.

‘I'm going to check in on the next post,' Eddie said, glancing at his watch before he headed towards the stairs leading down from the attic.

As he found the first step with his foot, he felt regret that the two men were part of a game that called for their lives. Their location had been handed to the Styx on a plate, and they were both to be sacrificed for the sake of appearances, but Eddie's face – as expressionless as ever – betrayed nothing.

‘Thank you, both of you,' he said, as he descended from view.

 

 

P
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The Tower