Tunnels 06 - Terminal

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 longbefore 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 ART T WO
    The Tower

 
     
     
    Chapter Four

    T he bushman was being bounced around in the seat next to Jürgen, who was manoeuvring the New Germanian half-track through the jungle at some speed. It was a hefty eighteen-tonne military vehicle, requisitioned from a military compound in the city, and with its combination of wheels and caterpillar tracks it was ideal for the jungle track, which a recent monsoon had turned into