Down: Trilogy Box Set (121 page)

“Major Camp,” he started.

“Retired,” John said.

A thin smile crossed his face. “Duly noted. Happy to host a former Green Beret officer at Credenhill. I’ve reviewed your particulars and I’m impressed with your capabilities.”

“Thank you, Major,” John said.

“And Sergeant Jones. Royal Dragoon Guards. Excellent service record. Good innings with the Metropolitan Police. Welcome to you too. Our commander was briefed by the prime minister this morning and he has, in turn, briefed me as to the nature of our, shall we say, unusual operation. I take it that Mr. Wellington has not been tipped for the raiding party?”

“No, I’ll be dealing with the London situation,” Ben said. “I probably wouldn’t be much good over there anyway.”

“And this gentleman?” Parker-Burns said, looking at Kyle.

“He’s my brother,” John said. “We’re still working on him. I’m hoping he’ll go.”

“Do you have a military background?” the major asked.

“None whatsoever,” Kyle said, avoiding eye contact.

“He’s got some skills which I consider mission critical,” John said.

“I see,” the major said with a forced politeness. “All will be revealed, I suppose. Now let me be frank. I’m a soldier and I will follow the orders that have been given me by my superior officer. But I’ll tell you what I told my commander. A Squadron is a national treasure, sixty of the finest men who ever wore her majesty’s uniform. I urged him to deploy A Squadron to the London hot spots where we may engage and neutralize these aliens using the full tactical resources at our disposal. To send these men into terra incognita with no weapons or materials strikes me as ridiculously foolhardy. Furthermore, placing them under the operational control of Major Camp—sorry, former Major Camp—is not acceptable.”

“You’re welcome to come along and command them,” John said with a smile.

“But I was told that I would have to report to you,” Parker-Burns said.

“I’ve been there twice,” John said. “I know the lay of the land.”

“Still …” the major said.

John jumped in. “Seems to me the bigger issue is where to engage the enemy: here or over there. The Hellers are going to keep on coming if they’re not stopped. They’ll flood the zones. You’d think that might be something we could control with superior fire power if it weren’t for the fact that our experts think the zones are going to be unstable. They’re going to expand, and that expansion is likely to be unpredictable, eventually swallowing up a containment force. With all the uncertainties, we’re still going to be better off dealing with the threat over there.”

“And who better to deal with unconventional threats than the SAS?” Ben said.

“That’s right,” John said. “And who better to improvise behind enemy lines?”

Parker-Burns raised his hands in mock surrender. “You don’t have to convince me of our capabilities. If we get a final order to go, we will go, and we will perform our duties superbly.”

John smiled broadly. “Imagine how pissed off you would’ve been if I got my first choice for the mission, the Navy Seals.”

The room got so quiet a pin drop would have sounded like a cymbal clash. The major’s head looked like it was going to explode.

“Just kidding,” John said, breaking into a laugh.

Parker-Burns exhaled and cracked up. “Thank God for that,” he said. “Come on, let me introduce you to A Squadron.”

The sixty men of A Squadron mustered for inspection inside a cavernous helicopter hangar. There were four troops of fifteen soldiers designated A through D, each commanded by a captain. John liked their special-ops looks. Most chose to wear their hair on the long side and many had full beards. But most importantly they had swagger. For this mission to succeed they’d need to be tough, cocky sons-of-bitches.

Parker-Burns put the men at ease and said, “Gentlemen, you have had a preliminary briefing on the unfolding security threat in London and you were told to be on stand-by in case her majesty’s government called on you to be part of the response. Tonight I can confirm that A Squadron will indeed be called upon to render your unique and efficacious services. Your mission will be quite unlike any you have ever undertaken, one that will present singular challenges and will be fraught with unexpected dangers. I am assured that there was only one group within the military the government considered for this mission and that was this squadron. Captains Marsh, Yates, Greene, and Gatti will be meeting with these gentlemen by my side who are knowledgeable about the mission. The captains will, in turn, brief you tonight at twenty hundred hours. That is all.”

Each of the four troop captains was in his thirties. They flopped into their chairs in the officer’s room and stared suspiciously at their visitors. Unlike their men, they were clean-shaven with traditional military cuts except for Marsh who was bald as a cue ball. Their body language spoke volumes of their unhappiness about being briefed by civilians and when John opened his mouth, they seemed especially put off getting marching orders from an American.

“Seriously,” Marsh said, running his hand over his scalp. “A civilian and a Yank? What kind of bollocks is this?”

John was about to reply when Ben said, “I don’t wish to speak for Mr. Camp but I think you’ll find you speak the same language. He was fairly recently a major in the Green Berets.”

Marsh sneered at that. “Well I’m glad to hear your cap was green not pink, sunshine.”

Kyle bristled and said, “Hey, watch it, buddy.”

“Another American,” Marsh said, “and a limping one at that. Were you the pink beret, then?”

Captain Yates, a broad-shouldered black man said, “Put a cork in it Alex. Let me apologize for my colleague. Once you get to know him you’ll realize he really is an ass-wipe.”

Captain Gatti was dark and swarthy with a thin moustache. “Yeah, go on,” he said. “Don't mind Alex. He gets that way with blokes with hair on their heads.”

“Not to worry,” John said with a knowing smile. “I would’ve been rip-shit if some limey bastard showed up in my house to tell me how a mission was going to go down. I’m sorry about that but after you hear what I’ve got to say, you’ll understand that there aren’t any active-duty British soldiers who could do this briefing. Trevor Jones and I are it. Trevor’s also ex-military. He was a sergeant with the Royal Dragoon Guards with multiple tours in Afghanistan.”

Captain Greene, the youngest looking of the officers with golden-boy good looks, fine, closely cropped blonde hair and a cleft chin said, “And you?”

Kyle shook his head. “Never enlisted. Baldy here with his eagle eye spotted my limp. I’m John’s brother and I’m still not a hundred percent sure why I’m here.”

“He’s here because he’s got specialized skills,” John said.

“Fair enough,” Greene said, looking at Ben. “What’s your story?”

Ben had answered for John and now John returned the favor. “This fellow’s the only one in the room whose ass you ought to be kissing. One of these days, if you survive this mission, you may be knocking on his door for a job. Mr. Wellington’s right near the top of the heap at MI5.”

“All right, duly impressed by the lot of you,” Marsh said sarcastically. “Suppose you go ahead and tell us about these singular challenges and unexpected dangers our CO alluded to.”

“I presume this has everything to do with the badness in London,” Yates said.

“It does,” Ben said. “Mr. Camp will do the honors.”

“Okay, guys,” John said. “Listen up and prepare to be amazed.”

“Nice place,” Kyle said, dropping his bag onto the floor in John’s hall. The helicopter had put down a half mile away on a dark school football pitch and they had walked through the largely deserted streets of Dartford to get to the flat.

“I haven’t been here much lately,” John said. “Your bedroom’s down that way. It’s en suite.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means you’ve got your own shitter.”

John went to the fridge, got a couple of cold beers, and gave Kyle one. He watched as his brother finished it in several mighty gulps.

“Want another?” he asked him.

“For starts. Got anything stronger for later?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“I need to know if you’re in or out. If you’re in I’ll want you to wean off the hard stuff.”

“Fuck you.” Kyle got up from the sofa and helped himself to another can of beer.

“That’s not an answer,” John said.

“I think you and I’ve got some unfinished business to deal with first,” Kyle said angrily.

“Oh yeah, what’s that?”

“Fucking me over on the store, that’s what.”

John wasn’t surprised. It was the elephant in the room and it had been a wedge between them from the day their father died. The old man’s house and gun store, the only thing he possessed of any value. The two brothers grew up in that house. Their father had put them to work in the store as soon as they were tall enough to see over the counter. John had been a student athlete. He got into West Point and never looked back on Bend, Oregon. When Kyle hit high school a few years later he wanted to be a football star like his big brother, date cheerleaders, join the army too, maybe special forces, but a drunken car wreck ruined his leg and his life. He got stuck in Bend, stuck in the shop, and stuck in the house.

“Exactly how’d I fuck you over?” John asked. “It was dad’s decision to leave me half of everything. Mom’s dead. He had two sons. Splitting the pizza down the middle’s the way he wanted it.”

When the two of them argued the f-bombs always flew and Kyle unleashed a cluster bomb. “It’s not a fucking pizza. It’s my fucking house. It’s my fucking job. It’s my fucking life. You fuck off to Afghanistan and God knows where, you get medals and citations, you live the high life in England. You want to know what my life is? I’m still in Bend in and out of debt with a gimpy leg. And you own half that goddamn life. How do you think that makes me feel?”

John’s response jammed up his mind. He wanted to tell Kyle it wasn’t his fault he was a pathetic fuck-up, an excuse-ridden, alcoholic loser. He wanted to tell him that thank God at least one son made their mom and dad proud. He wanted to haul off and punch him in the mouth. But he made himself bottle it up. For the first time in his life he needed Kyle for something.

He got up, went over to his desk, and pulled out writing paper. Bent over he wrote out a paragraph, dated and signed it.

“Here,” he said, handing it to Kyle. “When Emily gets here she can witness it. If dad’s lawyer says it’s crap I’ll sign his version. You’re right. It should be your house and business a hundred percent.”

Kyle read it. His Adam’s apple moved up and down each time he swallowed. He sniffed back some secretions and looked up to say, “I …”

There was a key in the door and Emily came in. John was relieved to avoid whatever awkward version of gratitude he was about to hear.

“Emily, this is my brother Kyle. Kyle, Emily Loughty.”

Kyle turned the paper upside down and stood up to greet her. After a friendly exchange she disappeared into John’s bedroom to change clothes.

“She’s amazing,” Kyle said.

“Yes she is.”

“She’s a scientist?”

“A good one.”

“If you’d said she was a model I’d have believed you.”

“She’s got it all,” John agreed. “I’m pretty fucking lucky.”

“You always were.”

Kyle polished off his second beer and started on his third. Emily came out in jeans and a t-shirt, barefooted.

“Have you eaten?” she asked.

“We should do take out,” John said.

“Little chance of that,” she said. “Dartford’s a ghost town.”

“How’d you get here?” John asked.

“A helicopter materialized in a courtyard at the Ministry of Defense. How’d you do it? All I saw were red tail lights for miles on the motorway.”

“Same as you, thanks to Ben.”

She found some frozen entrees and put them up.

“So Kyle, I understand the US Air Force flew you in?” Emily said.

“It was pretty sweet. I had the whole plane to myself.”

“What do you think about this mess we’re in?”

Kyle put his beer down, using John’s attestation as a place mat. “I think we’re being tested,” he said. “It’s our hour of trial. ‘Since you have kept my command to endure patiently, I will also keep you from the hour of trial that is going to come on the whole world to test those who live on the Earth.’ Revelations 3:10.”

“Since when are you a Bible quoter?” John asked.

“You don’t know me anymore,” Kyle said, shaking his head. “An ex-girlfriend got me into it. She’s gone, the Bible stayed.”

Emily said, “Well, biblical or not, I agree we are being tested. How we respond in the next hours, days, and weeks will affect our future profoundly.”

“Anything new on your end?” John asked.

“I’ve talked to every expert who was on Leroy Bitterman’s panel and a handful of others. No one’s got a solution because there really aren’t any strangelet experts out there. Paul Loomis was the only one;
is
the only one. My colleagues at the LHC in Geneva are working on ways to get control of the computer systems at MAAC remotely to fire up the collider if and when a fix materializes. We can’t risk putting people into the Dartford hot zone.”

Kyle said, “I’m not the smartest guy but I’m not a dimwit either. But I’ve got to tell you I didn’t understand any of that.”

She apologized and gave him a laymen’s version. With John’s nod, she also told him about their encounters with Paul Loomis.

“That’s why you’re going again?” Kyle asked Emily.

John answered. “She’s going even though I don’t want her to.”

“We’ve got to move fast,” she said.

The microwave beeped and John fetched the food. “I’ve got a chicken curry, a mac and cheese, and a beef lasagna.”

“Mac and cheese, please,” Emily said.

“I never had curry,” Kyle said.

John put the lasagna in front of him. Without asking, Kyle said grace. They listened in awkward silence.

Emily peeled off the film of her entrée and sunk her fork into the yellow goo. Before her ordeal she wouldn’t touch this kind of processed food but now she savored it as if it had come from a Michelin-starred restaurant.