Tunnels 05 - Spiral

several sizes too big for him, flopping forward over his bushy white eyebrows. He was dressed in a khaki-colored cardigan, and a pair of crutches was tucked into a sling at the back of his scooter.
    “Commander, ’ow very good to see you again, sir.” Sergeant Finch grinned. “Apologies for not getting up, but me legs aren’t what they used to be.”
    “You and me both,” Parry said, raising his walking stick.
    Sergeant Finch glanced down at a cat that had made itself at home between his feet on the scooter. “An’ apologies for the formalities at the front entrance. You know I ’ave to follow protocol.”
    “Of course you do,” Parry assured him.
    Sergeant Finch was looking around at everyone. His gaze came to rest on Colly, who’d taken several tentative steps from behind Mrs. Burrows to sniff at one of the more courageous cats. “That’s not a dog, is it, Commander? Can’t ’ave no dog running loose down ’ere. Not with my c —”
    “Don’t worry — she’s a cat, too. Just rather a big one,” Mrs. Burrows spoke up.
    It was odd to watch Colly towering over the other cats who, smelling one of their own, were rapidly overcoming their fear. They began to throng around her, rubbing themselves against her and mewing.
    “What will they think of next?” Sergeant Finch exclaimed. “’Ad no idea that cats like that were being bred back in the world!” Shaking his head, he leaned forward in his seat to take some clipboards and a batch of cheap ballpoint pens from the pannier attached to his handlebars. “First things first. I need you each to sign this form in triplicate before I can allow you to go any farther.”
    Parry made a face. “Oh yes, I forgot all about the paperwork.”
    “So what is this?” Mr. Rawls asked as he took a clipboard and scanned the form.
    Sergeant Finch wagged a finger at him. “No, no, sir — you can’t read it. You’re not permitted to read it. It’s the SOSA — the Special Official Secrets Act,” he explained.
    “What?” Mr. Rawls burst out. “If I can’t read it, then how do I know what I’m agreeing to?”
    “You don’t,” Parry said, smiling. “It’s so top secret that you’re only allowed to read it
after
you’ve signed it.”
    “Barmy,” Mr. Rawls muttered, dashing off his signature, then turning to the next copy on the clipboard.
    After everyone had completed the requisite forms to Sergeant Finch’s satisfaction — including Mrs. Burrows, who had to be shown where to sign — they all followed him down the passage. It was several hundred feet in length, and along the sides were racks of battered metal helmets, gas masks, bicycles that looked as though they dated from the 1940s, and similarly old-fashioned radios in canvas haversacks.
    As they went, Sergeant Finch used a control on the handlebars of his scooter to activate the section doors in the passageway behind them. With a press on each numbered red button, another slab of heavy metal would grind across with the clanking noises they’d heard before, sealing the way out.
    “So Danforth’s here already?” Parry asked.
    “Yes, the Professor’s in the Hub, sir,” Sergeant Finch replied. “He’s been connecting up his new gizmos.”
    Parry nodded. “We’d better go and check on how he’s doing.”
    “Yes, sir,” Sergeant Finch acknowledged, the wheels on his scooter squeaking on the linoleum flooring as he picked up speed down the slight incline. Colly trotted along quickly in front of the human contingent, all the cats flocking after her in a herd. The Hunter seemed to be more animated than she had been in a long time, but that was probably because a playful kitten kept attempting to jump on her with its tiny claws extended.
    Danforth barely glanced up as they entered the Hub, transfixed by the screen of his laptop. “You need to see this,” he said. “It’s the main item on all the US channels.”
    The Hub was a large circular space, and in the middle were five banks of long desks that supported old telephones and oak boards dotted with clunky-looking dials. Down one whole side of the Hub were Perspex screens, which extended the full height from floor to ceiling and on which various maps of the British Isles had been painted in heavy black outlines. Chester hovered by one that showed the south of England and right across the Channel to the French coastline.
    Danforth was at the very front of the room. From a panel in the wall next to him spilled a tangled spaghetti of