The Secret Bunker Trilogy: Part One: Darkness Falls (8 page)

If he’d have looked a little closer, if the camera had given little more
definition in that terrible, dark blackness - and particularly if that
implant hadn’t been pulsing away madly, he might have realised that
he already knew that woman whose face was currently taking up half
of his screen.

I’m stunned by what Kate just told me.
I’m a kid, how can I have a guest pass to this place?

‘What about the others?’ I ask. ‘Dad, Harriet and David, did they pass the biometrics thingy?’

Okay, I know that wasn’t the most eloquent way to express myself, but
I was dealing with a lot of new information here.

‘Unfortunately not,’ replied Kate.
There were two words in that short sentence, and I got an uneasy
feeling that there might be a bit more information concealed by her
brevity.

‘Where
is
Dad?’ I asked.
I could hardly believe myself, such an obvious question, but if they
were
safe, why hadn’t I been reunited with my family yet?
‘Well, that’s where I do have a slightly less positive update for you
Dan,’ Kate replied, I could see that she was gearing up to something.
Like she was figuring out the best words to use to deliver bad news.
‘Your dad, brother and sister were
not
on the biometrics database. We
can’t explain that. So they do not have authorisation to be here.’
Did I say ‘Bad news?’
I meant,
terrible
news.

‘Strictly speaking Dan, they were
supposed
to be outside when the
sirens sounded. They got trapped in here when the bunker doors
closed, they’re really not supposed to be here.’

This was getting worse. I had a feeling that so far, from her point of view, this was the easy bit
that she was delivering.
‘Dan, your family have to stay contained during active operations as
they do not have clearance to be here.’
‘You are not subject to those same restrictions, but we can’t explain
yet why you’re classed as Mission Critical, it may well be an error.’

‘In the meantime, although you have the freedom of the bunker, you
are not yet permitted under bunker protocols to see the other
members of your family.’

He knew that what he did was Top Secret work, he understood that.
He knew that he couldn’t ask any questions and that orders had to be
followed without question. That’s how these things work.
If you can’t live with that, get a job at the local council offices.
But
this
mission had troubled him. He was only supposed to have driven past those kids to get a real close
video image of them. For face mapping or something like that, he wasn’t involved in what
happened after his job was done.

It was simple enough for goodness sake.
The black car that came with the job was military grade. It looked like a regular car, could even generate a random number
plate to keep off the regular police records if need be. If you wanted to you could even have
no
number plate if you needed
to be completely anonymous, and this thing was amazing to drive.
In fact it drove itself if you had to take your hands off the wheel. A feature often required in really delicate operations.
Like this one.

3-dimensional, biometric imaging.
Whatever that means.
He was a ‘hired hand’ not a scientist. He just gathered the data.
And kept his mouth shut.
And they gave him some great kit to do his job.
So
why
had the car swerved itself at the last minute, killing that kid?

It’s odd, even though that siren wail has been used since the Second
World War, then adapted for the Cold War, there is
still
nothing that
can come anywhere close to it when it comes to the sound of grim
portent. You couldn’t replace it with a digital version for instance - there’s
nothing that would come anywhere near to its gravity and sense of
impending crisis. So when the siren continued to sound, the woman knew intuitively
that something was up.
It may have been prompted by that implant, but it fused her real
thoughts, feelings and actions so seamlessly with those devised by her
invisible puppeteer, that no observer would have been able to tell
what part came from her real self and which part was artificially
created.

‘Come with me,’ she demanded of the figure in the car, holding out her
hand in a manner that showed that this was not up for discussion. It didn’t matter what this person was doing in her car, why they had
her laptop open and how they even got in there in the first place. She knew with all the certainty that she’d ever had in her life that
taking shelter in the bunker was the best - the
only
- thing to do.

Crazy how the device was able to suppress and hide her most
powerful maternal emotions, yet seemed to miss the thing that landed
them in so much jeopardy.
‘Dan’s phone!’ she exclaimed, halfway across the car park.

Ridiculous that she would risk losing time to retrieve a mobile phone.
Like the animal owner who leaps into the river to save their dog, only
to perish while the dog swims happily to the river bank.
Crazy actions at crazy times. If it wasn’t for the seconds that she’d lost retrieving Dan’s phone,
they’d have made it to the blast doors. If it wasn’t for those lost, precious moments she might have had time
to glance to her right where a distinctive, black car was parked. Unusually, it had no number plate.

I can’t say that I really understand the meaning of the word ‘Protocols’
but I certainly got the sense of Kate’s last sentence.
‘You mean I can’t see them at all?’ I queried.
Kate’s eyes narrowed.
‘The viper?’ I wondered.
‘Dan, I’m sorry, but until we receive a full mission definition, we have
to observe the protocols.’
That word again.
And she’s using my name again. That’s wearing a bit thin now.
I can hear the words coming out of your mouth, I can hear you trying
to get some rapport going here, but
what
you’re telling me is not
making me happy.

‘What’s mission definition?’ I think to myself.
I’m learning a lot today. I didn’t hear the words ‘mission definition’ very often when Dad and I
were laughing at YouTube videos of cats as part of my home
education. In fact, there wasn’t much ‘mission definition’ in my life at all until I
started talking to Kate. I decided to focus on what’s important.
‘So, where does that leave me?’ I asked.
‘You have the freedom of the bunker, and you may access all Green
Zone areas,’ she replied, ‘But Red Zone areas are out of bounds to you.’

Funny how I can find myself in the most hi-tech place you’ve ever
been, yet you can’t beat the colours red and green to tell you what you
can - and can’t - do.

‘I also need to give you a tour of the bunker, I’m guessing it looks
pretty different since you last saw it?’
A bit of an understatement that Kate. She’s got
me
at it now, I’m using
her
name in my sentences.
It helps to build rapport you know.
‘What about Mum?’ I ask again. I’m not sure what I mean about Mum, I just want some sort of action
plan. Some ‘mission definition’.
‘As part of standard, start-up schemata, we sweep the perimeters to
check for life forms outside the bunker gates,’ Kate answered.
‘That process will be underway as I speak to you now, it’s a basic
security measure, but in this case we’ll be looking for your mum.’
‘Schemata’.
Another new word to add to my vocabulary.
‘If I hear anything, I’ll let you know straight away.’

Had he recognised that face on the screen, he might have moved with
more urgency. He certainly would have been very surprised to see that
particular
person on the screen in front of him. They were connected.
It was some years ago and at the time it was very significant to both of
them.

For the person who’d engineered this reunion, it couldn’t have had
any more significance. Like a puppeteer working through the script in a performance, each
step carefully devised and planned. To make sure it moves carefully to the crescendo, the plotted course,
the final outcome.
It was no random thing that they happened to be in this place at this
time. But when they’d first met, neither of them had a family, it
had
genuinely felt like a random meeting back then. He now had Trudie and the kids.
She had Mike, David, Harriet, Dan and Nat …
Not
Nat.
Nat had died.
But it was almost a lifetime ago for both of them.
So much was different since then.
So much water under the bridge, so many changes.

An apparent chance meeting that had been working up to this reunion
all these years later. What could have made this event so important, that it was so crucial
right now? It made no difference to either of them at this moment..
He
was unable to recognise her because of the device implanted in his
neck. She was unaware in the terrible darkness beyond the bunker blast
gates that she and her young companion were even being watched.

Yet what was it that linked these two people so inextricably that it
should be crucial to world beyond the bunker that they met once
again at this place, inside this bunker? If they had met each other again under normal circumstances, they
would have worked it out straight away. It was those terrible events that they got caught up in whilst they were
both serving in the Army.

Ordinary people for an
extra
ordinary job.
The future of humanity no less. The problem with the ‘high achievers’ is that they tend to be too good brilliant - at only one thing.
They spend hours, days, months and years honing their skills,
ridiculous amounts of time mastering every element of their
profession and they become masters. But in becoming exemplary at one thing, they lose their focus and
skills in many other areas. And that’s what he needs right now, for this mission.

Sure, these recruits need to be fit, bright, sharp and intelligent.
But they also need to be average.
Not just any kind of average though.
They need to be the very best at being average. Being average means that you can do many things to an average
standard. One minute you can be fit, the next you can be intelligent.
You can pivot from that to being an average problem solver, an
average technical operator or an average work colleague.
Yes, in this scenario average at all things is exactly what he needs.

Because
this
mission has never been thought of before, let alone
attempted, and even
he
cannot anticipate what skills, challenges and
problems lie ahead. So in this scenario, average is about as good as it’s going to get.

He was used to being pretty impartial about his work. He knew it had to be done, most of the time it was just surveillance or
moving people from one place to another. But this was something else.
He
had not been responsible for the car swerving.
His hands were off the wheel, the car took over the minute that was
detected by the sensors. The car’s internal computer knew to adjust speed, maintain distance
from kerb, scan for all life forms and ‘anticipate’ other vehicles.
It could ‘recognise’ double yellow lines, ‘Stop’ signs, ‘Give Way’ road
markings and even a school crossing attendant. And this was a military grade vehicle.

While commercial organisations made a big deal about driverless cars
and how they were ‘the future’, they were wasting their time, the
Military had been onto this concept for many years. If it works with drones, it works with cars.
‘Military’ might not be the right word to use though. It was definitely ‘Military-like’, it felt governmental and it was
definitely top secret.
But he wasn’t quite sure
who
he worked for.
And that didn’t matter to him before he - before
his car
- hit that child. But it’s all he’d thought about since then.
He was no killer.

He had no instructions to kill on that day.
He’d been unable to stop it, just forced to look into the eyes of one of
the children and watch it happen.
The only way it could have happened is because of computer error.
Unlikely. He hesitated to say ‘impossible’, but it really was pretty well
impossible. As impossible as anything could be.
No, he was pretty sure it had something to do with the man who’d
distracted the mother as he’d just driven by. The face that he recognised straight away, even though he was
completely out of place. He should
not
have been at that place at that time.
It was his boss, Dr Pierce.

She rushed past the black car, failing not only to notice its familiarity
but also the very obvious fact that something was not quite right. It had no registration plate.
Had this been anything other than a desperate race to get back to her
family, she might have glanced back.

Something out of place might have registered with her.
Had she glanced back, she would have seen that number plate change
before her eyes. From being totally blank, to generating a random registration number.
Something that the police would never be able to trace. Had she noticed what was going on, she might have wondered ‘What
kind of car can do that?’

And if the device in her neck wasn’t doing its job quite so well, she
might possibly have realised that she’d been travelling in that
very
car
only a few days earlier.

It seemed on the surface that I was talking to the most pleasant person
on the Earth.
She even used my name regularly in her sentences.
To build rapport.
Why did I get an uneasy feeling whenever Kate spoke to me?