Fic, Silk and Steel, Part 72, AU, 18
Dec. 8th, 2010 06:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fredbassettTitle : Silk and Steel, Part 72
Authors : fredbassett & munchkinofdoom
Fandom : Primeval
Characters : Blade, Norman, Nick, Connor, Annie, Leek, Lyle, Miller, Helen
Rating : 18
Disclaimer : Not ours, no money made, don’t sue
Spoilers : None
Summary : In the midst of mounting tension, Norman goes fishing, with Blade’s assistance.
Warning : Slave!fic.
Blade approached the checkpoint at the main gate of the ARC just as a car containing Cutter and Connor was allowed through by two of Becker’s men. He lowered the window of Annie Morris’s car and showed his pass, while she did the same on the passenger side. The boot was quickly and efficiently checked and they were allowed into the compound. The perimeter stretched for a considerable distance, encircling the extensive grounds with two four-metre high wire fences, the inner one electrified, a wide ‘killing ground’ lying between the two.
He followed Cutter into the cavernous internal garage reserved for senior personnel only and pulled up next to the professor’s car. To Blade’s slight irritation, Cutter opened their car door for Annie, while Connor hauled his laptop bag out of the boot of the other car. Their resident genius had obviously spent the night at Cutter’s rather than going home. Connor shot him a wide grin. A night away from the ARC appeared to have restored his normal irrepressibility. The same couldn’t be said of Cutter, though. The man looked distinctly uneasy and was probably cursing the unfortunate coincidence that had brought them back into the ARC at the same time.
“Annie,” Cutter looked deeply embarrassed. “About last night… I really am sorry for what I said.”
Annie gave Cutter a small, tired smile that made Blade want to reach for the hilt of one of his knives and use it on the man who’d contributed to her exhaustion and near-breakdown. “It’s fine, dear, really it is.”
Fine wasn’t quite the description Blade would have used but, as they’d woken up at 6.30am in each other’s arms, he supposed it could have been worse. They’d made love again, this time without the barely-suppressed anger of the night before and there had been no tears, just gentleness and a mutual desire to put off for as long as possible the harsh reality they would have to face once they reached their place of work.
Cutter opened his mouth to speak and then thought better of it. The man looked tired and drawn, which certainly couldn’t be said of Connor. Blade shot the young computer expert a questioning look and got another grin in reply. A suspicion started to form in Blade’s mind. As they walked towards the huge inner doors he watched the spring in Connor’s step and the self-satisfied smile on his face, in sharp contrast to the look of embarrassment on Cutter’s. He also noted that Cutter was doing a very good job of avoiding his eyes.
It looked rather like the professor’s high and mighty principles might very well have come a cropper – with a little help from Connor.
Once inside the ARC, it was usual for Blade and Annie to part company for the day. Blade was actually due some down-time, but he wasn’t particularly tired and the rec room didn’t hold much appeal. There would be too many civilians hanging around wanting to talk about what would be happening later that day to Ryan and that was a topic Blade preferred to avoid. On the spur of the moment, he decided to head for the armoury.
Spending some time with only lethal weapons for company was extremely appealing.
As Blade crossed the wide expanse of the atrium, Oliver Leek was making his way down the ramp with Lyle three paces behind, doing his best to keep an amused smile off his face. Leek was deep in discussion with Norman, the ARC’s eccentric but invaluable maintenance supervisor, and the Acting Director looked very much like a man in desperate need of an interpreter.
“I bin telling ‘im upstairs since last summer that them buggers need dealing with!” Norman declared loudly.
“I imagine Sir James has had other things on his mind than fish,” Leek demurred.
“It’s not just fish,” Norman countered in outraged tones. “If it were just fish ‘appen it wouldn’t have bin so much of a problem! No bugger does owt with ‘em and the buggerin’ things taste like cotton wool stewed in ‘orse liniment anyhow, but them’s bin takin’ the ducklings and that ain’t right. There’ll be no ducks left next year if summat ain’t done. And with no ducks the ‘ole buggerin’ lake’ll be a mess o’ green weed. Took years to get that under control, it did. Ducks is best.”
“Quite,” said Leek weakly. “So it’s clearly high time that summat… I mean something is done, and you’re clearly the person to do it.”
Norman in full flow was probably the only laugh Blade was likely to get that day and, like Lyle, he was determined to make the most of it. He glanced down and stepped to once side of the ramp where he could pretend to fiddle with a boot strap while he enjoyed the show.
“I’ll need some ‘elp. It’ll tek too buggerin’ long wi’ nowt but a rod an’ line. Them sods is too wily for that. A stick o’ dynamite’ll do the trick nicely.”
Blade glanced up and met Lyle’s eyes. The lieutenant was not doing a very good job of hiding his amusement. Lyle raised his eyebrows questioningly and Blade nodded. He could do with some fresh air.
“I’m sure Richards would be happy to help out, Mr Leek,” Lyle commented. “We can probably spare a couple of hand grenades for a good cause.”
Blade straightened up and nodded.
Norman’s eyes gleamed wickedly. “Grand!”
“Try not to blow any windows out,” Leek said. “The over-spend on the repairs budget doesn’t bear thinking about already.”
“You’d save money if them dozy buggers would stop playing around with the electrics in my basement.” Norman paused for breath, then launched into one of his favourite diatribes on the subject of outside contractors. “Never seen such a ruddy carry-on in me life! Silly sods couldn’t find a fuse-board wi’ a roadmap and a set of directions, let alone rewire one. Bin back three times this week already, they ‘ave.”
“Thank you, Norman,” Leek said, clearly trying to extricate himself from the discussion before the Heavenly Host started to attract their usual share of blame. “I’ll be sure to pass your comments on, but I have been assured that the electricity supply has now been fully restored.”
“That’s what them buggers said last time,” Norman declared loudly as Leek hurried away, probably choosing a direction wholly at random. “Hasn’t stopped the sodding lights goin’ on an’ off like a beggerin’ Christmas tree! Happened twice already. And if they blow one of the generators up I won’t be ‘eld responsible!”
Lyle hesitated for a moment at Blade’s side and muttered, “16:00 hours.”
Any amusement Blade had been feeling collapsed like a deflated balloon.
As they walked down the corridor in the direction of the armoury, Norman asked, “Captain Ryan?”
Blade nodded.
“Bad business,” Norman said quietly and left it at that, for which Blade was grateful.
The armoury was deserted except for Miller. The sergeant was still conducting an inventory, wearing a look that would have curdled milk. News of his run-in with Thomson had spread around the ARC like a dose of the clap. Miller wasn’t popular, even among the Section 42 contingent, and Blade was careful to avoid the man’s eyes.
“Looking forward to this afternoon, Richards?”
“No.” He hesitated, then added, “Sir.”
“That’s right, mind your fucking manners, or Ryan won’t be the only one losing the skin off his back.” Miller laughed. “Have I told you what a good screw your precious captain was? He was tighter than I thought he’d be, considering Lester’s been dicking him for months. You should take a look at the tapes…”
“Shut your mouth, sergeant.” The instruction was delivered calmly in a Home Counties accent to rival Thomson’s and sounded wholly incongruous coming from Norman’s lips as he stared impassively up at Miller from under his shock of white hair.
Oh shit, thought Blade. The situation was heading rapidly down the drain. Miller wouldn’t take that remark lying down. Blade thumbed the button on his microphone, preparing to alert Lyle.
A feral grin slid across Miller’s craggy face and he took a step forward. “Get back in your basement, old man, before I decide to teach you some manners as well.”
Before Blade had a chance to attempt any sort of intervention, Norman reached up with one hand and pulled the green and blue chequered scarf from around his neck. Miller stared blankly at the other man’s neck as Blade felt the warmth of relief spread through him. Norman’s eccentricities made it easy to forget that, as the head of the ARC’s Maintenance Division, he actually held the same status as someone like Jenny Lewis and had escaped the mass collaring of anyone below that level.
Miller’s face was red with anger, but the sergeant knew when he was onto a loser. He shot a dark look in Blade’s direction and turned away.
To Blade’s relief, Norman decided to let sleeping bastards lie and not press home his advantage. Norman wound the scarf back around his neck, his pale eyes glittering with amusement. “Come on, laddie, we’re goin’ fishin’.”
* * * * *
“Security, it’s Blade.” He was standing by the side of the lake, speaking into his throat mike while Norman prowled along the shoreline, looking for ducks. “I’m out by the lake with Norman. We’re going fishing. Mr Leek’s orders.”
The soldier manning the Security Centre chuckled. “It’s going to get noisy, is it, mate?”
Blade laughed. “Yep, reckon so. We need to scare off the ducks, then I’ll be fragging some fish. Let the lads know. I don’t want your lot deciding to start firing back.”
“I’ll pass the word. Use exercise protocol on an open channel.”
“Will do. Out.” As Blade spoke, a pair of mallards flew up out of the limp brown reeds at the side of the water and flapped away. “Want me to start making a noise?” he called to Norman.
“Gimme a minute, laddie!” Norman reached out with a long stick and poked into another clump of reeds. A moorhen broke from cover onto the surface of the water and started swimming furiously away from the edge. A bit more rustling of the stick sent another one out to join it. Norman appeared to know where the birds like to hide.
Blade followed him around the shore, listening to the Duty Officer in the Security Centre alerting the guards that they would shortly be hearing some noises from the grounds.
By the time Norman had finished his circuit of the lake, three mallards and four moorhens were swimming around on the water. He grinned at Blade. “We want ‘em off o’ there. The ducks’ll bugger off smartish. Them moor’en’s are daft beggars, they’ll take a bit o’ shiftin’.”
Blade grinned. He was Special Forces, he could shift a few birds. He pulled out the Glock he wore holstered on his right thigh and racked the slide to load a round into the chamber. If he’d been out on a shout he’d already be carrying one up the spout, but that wasn’t normal procedure around the ARC.
“Exercise, exercise,” he stated clearly into his throat mike. His radio was now transmitting on the open frequency all military personnel and guards were tuned to and his words would be heard by anyone in the vicinity of the ARC. He presumed the security controller had also taken the precaution of warning the civilian staff. “Firing three shots. Repeat, firing three shots. Out.”
The first bullet entered the water half a metre from one of the moorhens. The bird flapped away madly, frightened by both the spray of water kicked up by the bullet and by the sharp crack from the automatic pistol. A second bullet persuaded it to scurry off over the short grass as fast as its large feet would carry it. As Norman had predicted, the mallards immediately took to the air, but the other two moorhens seemed to be made of sterner stuff. Blade’s third bullet sent them back into the rushes, but not out of the water.
“Any luck?” the security guard asked in his ear. This was probably the most fun he’d had since the Heath and Safety Inspector had turned up without the relevant paperwork.
“Two left,” Blade responded, watching as Norman started to thrash at a tangle of low-growing bushes.
With an irritated flap of their small black wings, the birds were on the move again. Blade warned for another two shots and then did his best to drive them in the direction of a strip of gravel around one side of the shore where a couple of wooden benches provided a good spot for drinking tea and eating lunch in shore. The two birds finally took the hint and left in a hurry.
“That’s sorted ‘em!” Norman declared in satisfaction. “They’ll be back at teatime. Daft sods.”
“Stage two?” Blade queried, pulling one of the concussion grenades out of his equipment vest. The shock-wave this would produce in the water would almost certainly be enough to take out the pike that had been causing all the trouble, but he had another one as a back-up, if he needed it.
Norman nodded, grinning widely.
“What about the rest of the fish?”
“Don’t reckon there’ll be many left if the sods ‘ave started on the ducks. Chuck it in, laddie. Let’s see what we get.”
A bloody great big splash, thought Blade, as he took firm hold of the grenade and prepared to extract the firing pin. “Exercise, exercise. We’re about to go fishing.” He twisted the pin, pulling it out cleanly and lobbed the grenade with a standard over-arm throw into the middle of the lake, releasing the dead man’s handle as it left his grip.
Blade’s mental countdown reached four as a dull boom sounded in the depths of the lake and water mushroomed up nearly four metres above the surface.
Norman cackled in delight, bouncing up and down on his toes on the grass. “That’ll teach them there buggers not to go snacking on me ducks!”
Blade grinned. It had been a good waterspout and they could produce another like that if they needed it. He scanned the area, wondering how far the displaced wildfowl had gone. Movement in a copse of trees some distance away caught his attention. Blade frowned. Even at this distance, he recognised Sergeant Miller. Blade’s first instinct was to suspect that the bastard had decided they’d be an easier target away from the main building but if that was the case, he seemed to be heading towards the ARC, not towards them.
He nudged Norman and gestured with his head towards the trees. “Going off open comms,” Blade commented into his radio. “I’ll come on air again if we need to make another noise. Out.”
“Thought ‘e ‘ad a job to do in t’armoury,” Norman commented.
“So did I,” Blade agreed.
The two men looked at each other. Norman’s shaggy white eyebrows were drawn together in a frown. “’e looked better wi’ a twisted neck,” he said thoughtfully. “Never did find out where that body went, did we, laddie?”
Blade shook his head, reaching on impulse for his mobile phone. All the anomaly response teams carried phones as a matter of course, as proximity to the magnetic fields the anomalies generated had an inconvenient habit of fouling their comms. He selected one of the numbers in his address book and hoped the person he was calling was on his own.
“Ditz?” He didn’t need to announce himself, the caller display would have taken care of that for him. “Do me a favour. I need to know if Miller’s still in the armoury. If he’s not, is he still in the building? Use the phone, not radio, OK?”
Three minutes later, his phone vibrated in his hand. “He’s still there,” Ditzy reported. “Looks like someone hasn’t been recording all the used ammo. Kermit says he ain’t a happy bunny.”
“Thanks, mate.” Blade disconnected the call and remarked to Norman, “There’s either something wrong with our eyesight, or his mother had the ugliest set of triplets on record.”
Norman glanced out over the now-still water of the lake. A large shape was floating on the surface and as Blade watched, another soon joined it. It looked like their unorthodox techniques had proved successful. Norman gestured with his head over to the trees. “We need a net. There’s one in t’ big shed.”
And together, they moved off towards the trees. Blade was nowhere near as good a tracker as Stephen Hart, but the ground was soft and boot prints shouldn’t prove too tricky to follow.
* * * * *
Blade held his arm out, fingers splayed in a warning gesture. He’d just seen another figure moving amongst the trees and they couldn’t risk attracting attention to themselves.
It had rained at some point in the night and the dead leaves underfoot were a soaked, brown mess, but at least there was no crackle of twigs or leaves to give away his movements. He jerked his head towards a tangle of beech coppice, indicating to his companion to stay under cover. Norman nodded and went down on one knee. A few more metres brought Blade up behind the wide girth of an old oak tree with a reasonable line of sight through the wood, but this was as close as he could get to Miller without risking discovery.
The burly sergeant was waiting for someone. And that someone was now approaching from the direction of the ARC, following a small path that wound through the trees. One brief glance from his hiding place gave Blade the identity of the other person.
Helen Cutter.
She was approaching with a casual nonchalance that said she wasn’t expecting to be followed or observed, but she moved with the grace of a predator and Blade knew that it would be a bad mistake to underestimate her. If even half of the rumours circulating in the ARC were true, the woman had the instincts of a natural-born predator. She’d already given Section 42 a run for their money and was now making her presence felt in entirely different ways. He knew it was more than his life was worth to be caught snooping, but that wasn’t going to stop him.
A patch of undergrowth another few metres away would provide a better vantage point, the only question was whether he could get there unobserved. Blade dropped low to the ground, moving fast while Helen’s attention was still focussed on the man she was meeting. The sergeant was facing away from Blade and that was an advantage not to be missed.
Blade reached the bramble patch in time to hear the words, “… and make sure you clean up after yourself. Thomson is already suspicious. I don’t want to take any unnecessary risks. It’s served its purpose now, anyway.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The answering voice was low but unmistakably Miller’s, which was demonstrably impossible as he’d already had confirmation from Ditzy that Miller was still inside the ARC.
Without another word, Helen Cutter turned on her heels and stalked back towards the ARC. The man stood there a moment watching her go, then he turned around and headed off into the woods, back the way he’d come.
Blade couldn’t risk following too closely, it was unnecessary in any event as the man’s boots would leave an easy trail on the wet leaf mould and Norman knew these grounds like the back of his hand, so Blade didn’t anticipate any difficulty in tracking progress through the grounds.
“Where the hell is he heading for?” Blade asked Norman.
The old man’s eyes narrowed in thought. “The old bunkers,” he muttered.
“What old bunkers?” Blade queried as they moved silently through the trees, tracking their quarry.
“This place used to be used for weapons research, laddie. There’s tunnels around ‘ere goin’ back to the war. Nowt in ‘em, leastways there wasn’t when I last looked. But mebbe things are different now…”
Blade grinned. The body of the cleaner with the broken neck had gone somewhere and an old bunker in the grounds was as good a hiding place as any. According to Norman’s muttered commentary, the tracks they were following were leading straight to one group of them. Ahead, through the tangle of beech and oak, Blade could see a grass-covered mound. Behind it were several more, each set with a heavy metal door at one end.
The man had vanished, but his footsteps led past the first three bunkers to stop at a fourth, ending in a muddy puddle that suggested this entrance had been used several times in the recent past. Blade stared at the door with a sinking feeling. The metal was rusty but, knowing this sort of place, it was almost certainly a couple of centimetres thick and would take a decent hit of plastic explosive without yielding. Just on the off-chance that their quarry hadn’t locked up after himself, Blade tried the handle. It moved, but the door didn’t.
“Stand back, laddie.” Norman flourished the largest bunch of keys Blade had ever seen and started to hunt through them for the one he wanted.
“When we get inside, stay behind me,” Blade ordered.
Norman slid a key into the lock and turned it carefully. A quiet click announced that he’d found the right one. Blade opened the door slowly, hoping that the hinges had been greased more recently than the rust indicated. He was in luck. The door swung inwards easily. It allowed them entrance into a short section of corridor, once painted white, but now flaking and grubby. A few metres further on, another door stood slightly open.
Blade slipped his fighting knife out of its sheath and advanced quietly, listening for any noise before pushing open the second door. The corridor beyond was much the same, dimly lit by naked bulbs in the ceiling. Doors opened off on each side. The air smelled of damp and… something else. Blade sniffed cautiously. There was no mistaking the smell now. They were in the company of something dead. The cloying scent of decomposition hung in the air like a pall of smoke. Blade knew from experience that even something relatively small, like a rabbit or a fox, would smell badly enough in a confined space, but he would bet his last knife that something a lot bigger was producing this stink.
The first room they came to was empty but the second wasn’t. The light from the corridor spilled over into the room, revealing a dark shape lying on the bare concrete floor. Blade had found the source of the smell. He was looking at a standard military-issue body bag and it was very definitely occupied. Blade glanced at Norman and the old man raised his bushy white eyebrows questioningly. Much as Blade wanted to know what Miller – or whoever the hell it was they were following – was doing, he also wanted to know what was in the black nylon bag.
He went down on one knee on the dusty floor and eased the zip down. It slid easily under his fingers and seconds later Blade had to fight back a wave of nausea as the smell hit him full in the face. He swallowed hard and stared down at the contents of the bag.
Putrefaction was well under way. The skin was dark and mottled, bloated and almost unrecognisable, but the unnatural angle of the head told its own story. Just to be sure, Blade pulled the zip down far enough to reveal the dark blue overall worn by all the maintenance and cleaning staff in the ARC, the same dark blue overalls that Norman was wearing.
They’d found their missing body.
Now all they had to do was find the third member of their unholy trinity.
Blade zipped up the body bag again. Keeping Norman safely behind him, he carefully stuck his head outside the room to make sure the coast was still clear and then moved off down the corridor, following the obvious trail of muddy footprints. The man who’d left them behind wasn’t aware he was being followed and unless they managed to give themselves away, they had the element of surprise, but Blade hadn’t survived as long as he’d done in Special Forces by taking chances, so he kept his movements slow and steady.
He passed four more rooms, all in darkness, their doors standing open. The fifth was also open, but a light was on inside. Blade had no clear idea what he actually intended to do when he caught up with their quarry, but the sight that met his eyes shocked him into momentary inactivity.
The man they’d been following was standing behind someone else – another man, also dressed in black, who was sitting on a straight-backed chair in the middle of a room as bare as all the others Blade had passed. A second later, a large hand plunged the needle of a syringe into a collared neck and depressed the plunger. Miller’s double stepped back and dropped the syringe onto the floor.
In the space of a few heartbeats, the man on the chair slumped sideways to the floor, eyes open and staring lifelessly at the ceiling. Blade’s eyes widened in shock and he launched himself at the killer. The man turned, but not quite fast enough. Blade’s left arm snaked around the thick neck and jerked him backwards.
“What the fuck have you done?” he hissed.
The man twisted in his arms, kicking backwards with one foot while simultaneously hammering an elbow into Blade’s guts and trying to slam his head back into him. Blade twisted as well, the weight of his equipment vest absorbing the impact, although the man’s boot had managed to catch him a nasty blow under his left knee. His leg buckled and the man’s weight bore him to the ground. Instinctively, Blade slashed with his knife. The steel collar deflected it and it glanced off. Miller’s double rolled and Blade rolled with him. He gouged with his free hand for his opponent’s eyes. The other man had the advantage of weight, but wasn’t in any position to make use of it. The fight was brutal and dirty, but Blade had been brought up in a hard school.
The knife flashed again and this time the collar was no protection. Blood fountained from the man’s throat and Blade pushed the body off him, rolling away to avoid getting sprayed.
He came up onto his knees and stared down at the man. Any hope of questioning him died amidst a spreading pool of bright arterial blood. He cursed fluidly, furious with himself. He’d wanted to take the man alive and keep him that way… for a little while, at least.
His curse was cut off by a word from Norman. “Laddie!”
Norman was kneeling over the body of the man who’d had the syringe buried in his neck. The man was obviously dead, but that wasn’t what was causing the look of total shock on Norman’s lined face. A pair of grey eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling as Blade stood over the body, thoughts whirling like fireflies in his mind.
He still had no fucking idea what was going on, but he knew an opportunity when it was lying dead at his feet, and this was one he had no intention of wasting.
* * * * *
“Ditz? It’s Blade. I’m out in the grounds with Norman and I reckon the silly old sod’s been overdoing it. He insisted on taking a hike over to one of his sheds to fetch a net, but he’s having a bit of a funny turn. I think his chest’s playing up or something. Can you get one of buggies he uses for shifting stuff around so we can bring him in? I’d rather you took a look at him before I tried to move him. You don’t need to come mob-handed, mate. We can manage this by ourselves. Call me when you’re outside and I’ll talk you in.”
He waited for the medic’s acknowledgement and then pressed the button on his phone to end the call.
Leaning against the door next to him, Norman gave one of his trademark cackles, his eyes shining with amusement.
He was the picture of rude good-health.
Authors : fredbassett & munchkinofdoom
Fandom : Primeval
Characters : Blade, Norman, Nick, Connor, Annie, Leek, Lyle, Miller, Helen
Rating : 18
Disclaimer : Not ours, no money made, don’t sue
Spoilers : None
Summary : In the midst of mounting tension, Norman goes fishing, with Blade’s assistance.
Warning : Slave!fic.
Blade approached the checkpoint at the main gate of the ARC just as a car containing Cutter and Connor was allowed through by two of Becker’s men. He lowered the window of Annie Morris’s car and showed his pass, while she did the same on the passenger side. The boot was quickly and efficiently checked and they were allowed into the compound. The perimeter stretched for a considerable distance, encircling the extensive grounds with two four-metre high wire fences, the inner one electrified, a wide ‘killing ground’ lying between the two.
He followed Cutter into the cavernous internal garage reserved for senior personnel only and pulled up next to the professor’s car. To Blade’s slight irritation, Cutter opened their car door for Annie, while Connor hauled his laptop bag out of the boot of the other car. Their resident genius had obviously spent the night at Cutter’s rather than going home. Connor shot him a wide grin. A night away from the ARC appeared to have restored his normal irrepressibility. The same couldn’t be said of Cutter, though. The man looked distinctly uneasy and was probably cursing the unfortunate coincidence that had brought them back into the ARC at the same time.
“Annie,” Cutter looked deeply embarrassed. “About last night… I really am sorry for what I said.”
Annie gave Cutter a small, tired smile that made Blade want to reach for the hilt of one of his knives and use it on the man who’d contributed to her exhaustion and near-breakdown. “It’s fine, dear, really it is.”
Fine wasn’t quite the description Blade would have used but, as they’d woken up at 6.30am in each other’s arms, he supposed it could have been worse. They’d made love again, this time without the barely-suppressed anger of the night before and there had been no tears, just gentleness and a mutual desire to put off for as long as possible the harsh reality they would have to face once they reached their place of work.
Cutter opened his mouth to speak and then thought better of it. The man looked tired and drawn, which certainly couldn’t be said of Connor. Blade shot the young computer expert a questioning look and got another grin in reply. A suspicion started to form in Blade’s mind. As they walked towards the huge inner doors he watched the spring in Connor’s step and the self-satisfied smile on his face, in sharp contrast to the look of embarrassment on Cutter’s. He also noted that Cutter was doing a very good job of avoiding his eyes.
It looked rather like the professor’s high and mighty principles might very well have come a cropper – with a little help from Connor.
Once inside the ARC, it was usual for Blade and Annie to part company for the day. Blade was actually due some down-time, but he wasn’t particularly tired and the rec room didn’t hold much appeal. There would be too many civilians hanging around wanting to talk about what would be happening later that day to Ryan and that was a topic Blade preferred to avoid. On the spur of the moment, he decided to head for the armoury.
Spending some time with only lethal weapons for company was extremely appealing.
As Blade crossed the wide expanse of the atrium, Oliver Leek was making his way down the ramp with Lyle three paces behind, doing his best to keep an amused smile off his face. Leek was deep in discussion with Norman, the ARC’s eccentric but invaluable maintenance supervisor, and the Acting Director looked very much like a man in desperate need of an interpreter.
“I bin telling ‘im upstairs since last summer that them buggers need dealing with!” Norman declared loudly.
“I imagine Sir James has had other things on his mind than fish,” Leek demurred.
“It’s not just fish,” Norman countered in outraged tones. “If it were just fish ‘appen it wouldn’t have bin so much of a problem! No bugger does owt with ‘em and the buggerin’ things taste like cotton wool stewed in ‘orse liniment anyhow, but them’s bin takin’ the ducklings and that ain’t right. There’ll be no ducks left next year if summat ain’t done. And with no ducks the ‘ole buggerin’ lake’ll be a mess o’ green weed. Took years to get that under control, it did. Ducks is best.”
“Quite,” said Leek weakly. “So it’s clearly high time that summat… I mean something is done, and you’re clearly the person to do it.”
Norman in full flow was probably the only laugh Blade was likely to get that day and, like Lyle, he was determined to make the most of it. He glanced down and stepped to once side of the ramp where he could pretend to fiddle with a boot strap while he enjoyed the show.
“I’ll need some ‘elp. It’ll tek too buggerin’ long wi’ nowt but a rod an’ line. Them sods is too wily for that. A stick o’ dynamite’ll do the trick nicely.”
Blade glanced up and met Lyle’s eyes. The lieutenant was not doing a very good job of hiding his amusement. Lyle raised his eyebrows questioningly and Blade nodded. He could do with some fresh air.
“I’m sure Richards would be happy to help out, Mr Leek,” Lyle commented. “We can probably spare a couple of hand grenades for a good cause.”
Blade straightened up and nodded.
Norman’s eyes gleamed wickedly. “Grand!”
“Try not to blow any windows out,” Leek said. “The over-spend on the repairs budget doesn’t bear thinking about already.”
“You’d save money if them dozy buggers would stop playing around with the electrics in my basement.” Norman paused for breath, then launched into one of his favourite diatribes on the subject of outside contractors. “Never seen such a ruddy carry-on in me life! Silly sods couldn’t find a fuse-board wi’ a roadmap and a set of directions, let alone rewire one. Bin back three times this week already, they ‘ave.”
“Thank you, Norman,” Leek said, clearly trying to extricate himself from the discussion before the Heavenly Host started to attract their usual share of blame. “I’ll be sure to pass your comments on, but I have been assured that the electricity supply has now been fully restored.”
“That’s what them buggers said last time,” Norman declared loudly as Leek hurried away, probably choosing a direction wholly at random. “Hasn’t stopped the sodding lights goin’ on an’ off like a beggerin’ Christmas tree! Happened twice already. And if they blow one of the generators up I won’t be ‘eld responsible!”
Lyle hesitated for a moment at Blade’s side and muttered, “16:00 hours.”
Any amusement Blade had been feeling collapsed like a deflated balloon.
As they walked down the corridor in the direction of the armoury, Norman asked, “Captain Ryan?”
Blade nodded.
“Bad business,” Norman said quietly and left it at that, for which Blade was grateful.
The armoury was deserted except for Miller. The sergeant was still conducting an inventory, wearing a look that would have curdled milk. News of his run-in with Thomson had spread around the ARC like a dose of the clap. Miller wasn’t popular, even among the Section 42 contingent, and Blade was careful to avoid the man’s eyes.
“Looking forward to this afternoon, Richards?”
“No.” He hesitated, then added, “Sir.”
“That’s right, mind your fucking manners, or Ryan won’t be the only one losing the skin off his back.” Miller laughed. “Have I told you what a good screw your precious captain was? He was tighter than I thought he’d be, considering Lester’s been dicking him for months. You should take a look at the tapes…”
“Shut your mouth, sergeant.” The instruction was delivered calmly in a Home Counties accent to rival Thomson’s and sounded wholly incongruous coming from Norman’s lips as he stared impassively up at Miller from under his shock of white hair.
Oh shit, thought Blade. The situation was heading rapidly down the drain. Miller wouldn’t take that remark lying down. Blade thumbed the button on his microphone, preparing to alert Lyle.
A feral grin slid across Miller’s craggy face and he took a step forward. “Get back in your basement, old man, before I decide to teach you some manners as well.”
Before Blade had a chance to attempt any sort of intervention, Norman reached up with one hand and pulled the green and blue chequered scarf from around his neck. Miller stared blankly at the other man’s neck as Blade felt the warmth of relief spread through him. Norman’s eccentricities made it easy to forget that, as the head of the ARC’s Maintenance Division, he actually held the same status as someone like Jenny Lewis and had escaped the mass collaring of anyone below that level.
Miller’s face was red with anger, but the sergeant knew when he was onto a loser. He shot a dark look in Blade’s direction and turned away.
To Blade’s relief, Norman decided to let sleeping bastards lie and not press home his advantage. Norman wound the scarf back around his neck, his pale eyes glittering with amusement. “Come on, laddie, we’re goin’ fishin’.”
* * * * *
“Security, it’s Blade.” He was standing by the side of the lake, speaking into his throat mike while Norman prowled along the shoreline, looking for ducks. “I’m out by the lake with Norman. We’re going fishing. Mr Leek’s orders.”
The soldier manning the Security Centre chuckled. “It’s going to get noisy, is it, mate?”
Blade laughed. “Yep, reckon so. We need to scare off the ducks, then I’ll be fragging some fish. Let the lads know. I don’t want your lot deciding to start firing back.”
“I’ll pass the word. Use exercise protocol on an open channel.”
“Will do. Out.” As Blade spoke, a pair of mallards flew up out of the limp brown reeds at the side of the water and flapped away. “Want me to start making a noise?” he called to Norman.
“Gimme a minute, laddie!” Norman reached out with a long stick and poked into another clump of reeds. A moorhen broke from cover onto the surface of the water and started swimming furiously away from the edge. A bit more rustling of the stick sent another one out to join it. Norman appeared to know where the birds like to hide.
Blade followed him around the shore, listening to the Duty Officer in the Security Centre alerting the guards that they would shortly be hearing some noises from the grounds.
By the time Norman had finished his circuit of the lake, three mallards and four moorhens were swimming around on the water. He grinned at Blade. “We want ‘em off o’ there. The ducks’ll bugger off smartish. Them moor’en’s are daft beggars, they’ll take a bit o’ shiftin’.”
Blade grinned. He was Special Forces, he could shift a few birds. He pulled out the Glock he wore holstered on his right thigh and racked the slide to load a round into the chamber. If he’d been out on a shout he’d already be carrying one up the spout, but that wasn’t normal procedure around the ARC.
“Exercise, exercise,” he stated clearly into his throat mike. His radio was now transmitting on the open frequency all military personnel and guards were tuned to and his words would be heard by anyone in the vicinity of the ARC. He presumed the security controller had also taken the precaution of warning the civilian staff. “Firing three shots. Repeat, firing three shots. Out.”
The first bullet entered the water half a metre from one of the moorhens. The bird flapped away madly, frightened by both the spray of water kicked up by the bullet and by the sharp crack from the automatic pistol. A second bullet persuaded it to scurry off over the short grass as fast as its large feet would carry it. As Norman had predicted, the mallards immediately took to the air, but the other two moorhens seemed to be made of sterner stuff. Blade’s third bullet sent them back into the rushes, but not out of the water.
“Any luck?” the security guard asked in his ear. This was probably the most fun he’d had since the Heath and Safety Inspector had turned up without the relevant paperwork.
“Two left,” Blade responded, watching as Norman started to thrash at a tangle of low-growing bushes.
With an irritated flap of their small black wings, the birds were on the move again. Blade warned for another two shots and then did his best to drive them in the direction of a strip of gravel around one side of the shore where a couple of wooden benches provided a good spot for drinking tea and eating lunch in shore. The two birds finally took the hint and left in a hurry.
“That’s sorted ‘em!” Norman declared in satisfaction. “They’ll be back at teatime. Daft sods.”
“Stage two?” Blade queried, pulling one of the concussion grenades out of his equipment vest. The shock-wave this would produce in the water would almost certainly be enough to take out the pike that had been causing all the trouble, but he had another one as a back-up, if he needed it.
Norman nodded, grinning widely.
“What about the rest of the fish?”
“Don’t reckon there’ll be many left if the sods ‘ave started on the ducks. Chuck it in, laddie. Let’s see what we get.”
A bloody great big splash, thought Blade, as he took firm hold of the grenade and prepared to extract the firing pin. “Exercise, exercise. We’re about to go fishing.” He twisted the pin, pulling it out cleanly and lobbed the grenade with a standard over-arm throw into the middle of the lake, releasing the dead man’s handle as it left his grip.
Blade’s mental countdown reached four as a dull boom sounded in the depths of the lake and water mushroomed up nearly four metres above the surface.
Norman cackled in delight, bouncing up and down on his toes on the grass. “That’ll teach them there buggers not to go snacking on me ducks!”
Blade grinned. It had been a good waterspout and they could produce another like that if they needed it. He scanned the area, wondering how far the displaced wildfowl had gone. Movement in a copse of trees some distance away caught his attention. Blade frowned. Even at this distance, he recognised Sergeant Miller. Blade’s first instinct was to suspect that the bastard had decided they’d be an easier target away from the main building but if that was the case, he seemed to be heading towards the ARC, not towards them.
He nudged Norman and gestured with his head towards the trees. “Going off open comms,” Blade commented into his radio. “I’ll come on air again if we need to make another noise. Out.”
“Thought ‘e ‘ad a job to do in t’armoury,” Norman commented.
“So did I,” Blade agreed.
The two men looked at each other. Norman’s shaggy white eyebrows were drawn together in a frown. “’e looked better wi’ a twisted neck,” he said thoughtfully. “Never did find out where that body went, did we, laddie?”
Blade shook his head, reaching on impulse for his mobile phone. All the anomaly response teams carried phones as a matter of course, as proximity to the magnetic fields the anomalies generated had an inconvenient habit of fouling their comms. He selected one of the numbers in his address book and hoped the person he was calling was on his own.
“Ditz?” He didn’t need to announce himself, the caller display would have taken care of that for him. “Do me a favour. I need to know if Miller’s still in the armoury. If he’s not, is he still in the building? Use the phone, not radio, OK?”
Three minutes later, his phone vibrated in his hand. “He’s still there,” Ditzy reported. “Looks like someone hasn’t been recording all the used ammo. Kermit says he ain’t a happy bunny.”
“Thanks, mate.” Blade disconnected the call and remarked to Norman, “There’s either something wrong with our eyesight, or his mother had the ugliest set of triplets on record.”
Norman glanced out over the now-still water of the lake. A large shape was floating on the surface and as Blade watched, another soon joined it. It looked like their unorthodox techniques had proved successful. Norman gestured with his head over to the trees. “We need a net. There’s one in t’ big shed.”
And together, they moved off towards the trees. Blade was nowhere near as good a tracker as Stephen Hart, but the ground was soft and boot prints shouldn’t prove too tricky to follow.
* * * * *
Blade held his arm out, fingers splayed in a warning gesture. He’d just seen another figure moving amongst the trees and they couldn’t risk attracting attention to themselves.
It had rained at some point in the night and the dead leaves underfoot were a soaked, brown mess, but at least there was no crackle of twigs or leaves to give away his movements. He jerked his head towards a tangle of beech coppice, indicating to his companion to stay under cover. Norman nodded and went down on one knee. A few more metres brought Blade up behind the wide girth of an old oak tree with a reasonable line of sight through the wood, but this was as close as he could get to Miller without risking discovery.
The burly sergeant was waiting for someone. And that someone was now approaching from the direction of the ARC, following a small path that wound through the trees. One brief glance from his hiding place gave Blade the identity of the other person.
Helen Cutter.
She was approaching with a casual nonchalance that said she wasn’t expecting to be followed or observed, but she moved with the grace of a predator and Blade knew that it would be a bad mistake to underestimate her. If even half of the rumours circulating in the ARC were true, the woman had the instincts of a natural-born predator. She’d already given Section 42 a run for their money and was now making her presence felt in entirely different ways. He knew it was more than his life was worth to be caught snooping, but that wasn’t going to stop him.
A patch of undergrowth another few metres away would provide a better vantage point, the only question was whether he could get there unobserved. Blade dropped low to the ground, moving fast while Helen’s attention was still focussed on the man she was meeting. The sergeant was facing away from Blade and that was an advantage not to be missed.
Blade reached the bramble patch in time to hear the words, “… and make sure you clean up after yourself. Thomson is already suspicious. I don’t want to take any unnecessary risks. It’s served its purpose now, anyway.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The answering voice was low but unmistakably Miller’s, which was demonstrably impossible as he’d already had confirmation from Ditzy that Miller was still inside the ARC.
Without another word, Helen Cutter turned on her heels and stalked back towards the ARC. The man stood there a moment watching her go, then he turned around and headed off into the woods, back the way he’d come.
Blade couldn’t risk following too closely, it was unnecessary in any event as the man’s boots would leave an easy trail on the wet leaf mould and Norman knew these grounds like the back of his hand, so Blade didn’t anticipate any difficulty in tracking progress through the grounds.
“Where the hell is he heading for?” Blade asked Norman.
The old man’s eyes narrowed in thought. “The old bunkers,” he muttered.
“What old bunkers?” Blade queried as they moved silently through the trees, tracking their quarry.
“This place used to be used for weapons research, laddie. There’s tunnels around ‘ere goin’ back to the war. Nowt in ‘em, leastways there wasn’t when I last looked. But mebbe things are different now…”
Blade grinned. The body of the cleaner with the broken neck had gone somewhere and an old bunker in the grounds was as good a hiding place as any. According to Norman’s muttered commentary, the tracks they were following were leading straight to one group of them. Ahead, through the tangle of beech and oak, Blade could see a grass-covered mound. Behind it were several more, each set with a heavy metal door at one end.
The man had vanished, but his footsteps led past the first three bunkers to stop at a fourth, ending in a muddy puddle that suggested this entrance had been used several times in the recent past. Blade stared at the door with a sinking feeling. The metal was rusty but, knowing this sort of place, it was almost certainly a couple of centimetres thick and would take a decent hit of plastic explosive without yielding. Just on the off-chance that their quarry hadn’t locked up after himself, Blade tried the handle. It moved, but the door didn’t.
“Stand back, laddie.” Norman flourished the largest bunch of keys Blade had ever seen and started to hunt through them for the one he wanted.
“When we get inside, stay behind me,” Blade ordered.
Norman slid a key into the lock and turned it carefully. A quiet click announced that he’d found the right one. Blade opened the door slowly, hoping that the hinges had been greased more recently than the rust indicated. He was in luck. The door swung inwards easily. It allowed them entrance into a short section of corridor, once painted white, but now flaking and grubby. A few metres further on, another door stood slightly open.
Blade slipped his fighting knife out of its sheath and advanced quietly, listening for any noise before pushing open the second door. The corridor beyond was much the same, dimly lit by naked bulbs in the ceiling. Doors opened off on each side. The air smelled of damp and… something else. Blade sniffed cautiously. There was no mistaking the smell now. They were in the company of something dead. The cloying scent of decomposition hung in the air like a pall of smoke. Blade knew from experience that even something relatively small, like a rabbit or a fox, would smell badly enough in a confined space, but he would bet his last knife that something a lot bigger was producing this stink.
The first room they came to was empty but the second wasn’t. The light from the corridor spilled over into the room, revealing a dark shape lying on the bare concrete floor. Blade had found the source of the smell. He was looking at a standard military-issue body bag and it was very definitely occupied. Blade glanced at Norman and the old man raised his bushy white eyebrows questioningly. Much as Blade wanted to know what Miller – or whoever the hell it was they were following – was doing, he also wanted to know what was in the black nylon bag.
He went down on one knee on the dusty floor and eased the zip down. It slid easily under his fingers and seconds later Blade had to fight back a wave of nausea as the smell hit him full in the face. He swallowed hard and stared down at the contents of the bag.
Putrefaction was well under way. The skin was dark and mottled, bloated and almost unrecognisable, but the unnatural angle of the head told its own story. Just to be sure, Blade pulled the zip down far enough to reveal the dark blue overall worn by all the maintenance and cleaning staff in the ARC, the same dark blue overalls that Norman was wearing.
They’d found their missing body.
Now all they had to do was find the third member of their unholy trinity.
Blade zipped up the body bag again. Keeping Norman safely behind him, he carefully stuck his head outside the room to make sure the coast was still clear and then moved off down the corridor, following the obvious trail of muddy footprints. The man who’d left them behind wasn’t aware he was being followed and unless they managed to give themselves away, they had the element of surprise, but Blade hadn’t survived as long as he’d done in Special Forces by taking chances, so he kept his movements slow and steady.
He passed four more rooms, all in darkness, their doors standing open. The fifth was also open, but a light was on inside. Blade had no clear idea what he actually intended to do when he caught up with their quarry, but the sight that met his eyes shocked him into momentary inactivity.
The man they’d been following was standing behind someone else – another man, also dressed in black, who was sitting on a straight-backed chair in the middle of a room as bare as all the others Blade had passed. A second later, a large hand plunged the needle of a syringe into a collared neck and depressed the plunger. Miller’s double stepped back and dropped the syringe onto the floor.
In the space of a few heartbeats, the man on the chair slumped sideways to the floor, eyes open and staring lifelessly at the ceiling. Blade’s eyes widened in shock and he launched himself at the killer. The man turned, but not quite fast enough. Blade’s left arm snaked around the thick neck and jerked him backwards.
“What the fuck have you done?” he hissed.
The man twisted in his arms, kicking backwards with one foot while simultaneously hammering an elbow into Blade’s guts and trying to slam his head back into him. Blade twisted as well, the weight of his equipment vest absorbing the impact, although the man’s boot had managed to catch him a nasty blow under his left knee. His leg buckled and the man’s weight bore him to the ground. Instinctively, Blade slashed with his knife. The steel collar deflected it and it glanced off. Miller’s double rolled and Blade rolled with him. He gouged with his free hand for his opponent’s eyes. The other man had the advantage of weight, but wasn’t in any position to make use of it. The fight was brutal and dirty, but Blade had been brought up in a hard school.
The knife flashed again and this time the collar was no protection. Blood fountained from the man’s throat and Blade pushed the body off him, rolling away to avoid getting sprayed.
He came up onto his knees and stared down at the man. Any hope of questioning him died amidst a spreading pool of bright arterial blood. He cursed fluidly, furious with himself. He’d wanted to take the man alive and keep him that way… for a little while, at least.
His curse was cut off by a word from Norman. “Laddie!”
Norman was kneeling over the body of the man who’d had the syringe buried in his neck. The man was obviously dead, but that wasn’t what was causing the look of total shock on Norman’s lined face. A pair of grey eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling as Blade stood over the body, thoughts whirling like fireflies in his mind.
He still had no fucking idea what was going on, but he knew an opportunity when it was lying dead at his feet, and this was one he had no intention of wasting.
* * * * *
“Ditz? It’s Blade. I’m out in the grounds with Norman and I reckon the silly old sod’s been overdoing it. He insisted on taking a hike over to one of his sheds to fetch a net, but he’s having a bit of a funny turn. I think his chest’s playing up or something. Can you get one of buggies he uses for shifting stuff around so we can bring him in? I’d rather you took a look at him before I tried to move him. You don’t need to come mob-handed, mate. We can manage this by ourselves. Call me when you’re outside and I’ll talk you in.”
He waited for the medic’s acknowledgement and then pressed the button on his phone to end the call.
Leaning against the door next to him, Norman gave one of his trademark cackles, his eyes shining with amusement.
He was the picture of rude good-health.