Ducie by Chris Freeman
Chapter 21. Whiskey, Victor, Alpha, Uniform, Papa, Three, Seven, Oscar, Victor Alpha
Joe McKenna knew that pursuing Adam into the crisp, misty Birmingham morning was as pointless as it was foolish. He’d established from the security footage that Adam had been gone for an hour and fifteen minutes now and though he was no athlete, that was enough of a head start by anyone’s standards. Each minute that passed, even if Adam only staggered a small distance in that time, added more roads, more buildings, more parks, more factories, more shelters and more random, inanimate locations to the list of places he might possibly have found his way to by now.
Losing Adam in and of itself was not the issue. Given time, Joe was confident that his team would have no trouble eventually locating him, dead, alive or more likely somewhere in between the two. The real concern for Joe was who Adam might come into contact with and what he might tell them. Even Adam’s sketchy pieces of information about trapdoors, drugs testing, government conspiracies and whatever else he might have come across on his merry way, would be more enough to turn a head or three. Worse still, if Adam dragged someone back to the Institution to see for themselves, it would take one hell of cover-up to divert prying eyes.
Whilst there was no getting away from the gravity of the situation, Joe knew there were certain things working in his favour. Adam would eventually find someone to unload his blockbuster story on; there was little doubt about that. But if you were on your way to work in a big city when suddenly a skinny, bearded guy with an odour problem ran up to you, panting and perspiring his way through a vague tale of a secret tunnels, government conspiracies and taser guns, would you take him by the hand and say ‘Ok son, let’s go back there and take a look together’? Joe hoped that there wasn’t a soul in Birmingham who would answer ‘yes’ to that question.
The real reason Joe kept such a calm, unflappable exterior throughout all this however, was because he knew that he had another option. An option that was fraught with moral and ethical considerations of the most disturbing variety. An option he knew would haunt him for the rest of his life, should he elect to put it into action. An option that would put an untimely and tragic end to the lives of at least two people. An option that wasn’t really optional at all. It was an option that he had to take now.
Behind the Situation Room that had housed an erratic and confused Adam just a day earlier was another office. Slightly bigger and a lot less organised than the office that was visible to the patients, this chaotic jamboree of administration sat behind a concealed vault door that was accessed through a removable section on the filing bay where less sensitive materials were held. All of this security was in addition to the fact that only Kate and Adam knew that the Situation Room itself existed, and even they didn’t know that anything sat behind it. When the heavy steel door is closed, the side fixed locking bar engages. Turning the operating wheel wedges the locking bar into the jamb of the vestibule, providing a complete deadbolt locking action.
Harrison sat on a cheap, grey swivel chair in the middle of the room, repeatedly spinning a few degrees left, then the same distance back to the right. Joe paced the floor around him and did most of the talking.
- We don’t have a choice do we pal?
Harrison gazed at Joe, as if he might just be experiencing the hatching of an idea. Nothing materialised. Joe continued.
- If we make the call, then wherever Adam is right now is where he’ll die. We’ll still have to locate the body of course, but it’s not going to be long before someone phones it in when they see a man croak it like that in the middle of the street.
- How quick we can mek dis ‘appen?
- There’s obviously a process they have to follow at the other end, but I reckon a few hours, tops. Once I explain the urgency, then they’ll do whatever they need to to make it happen fast.
- So why we sit ‘ere tarking abowut it?
- These are real people Harrison. Adam might be a total fuck up with the IQ of a ham sandwich, but he was born to a mother one day, god help her. And we both know Adam’s not the only one who will suffer here Harrison.
Harrison nodded a knowing accordance.
- You say it yaself though Joe. We nah have choice inna matter.
Joe sat at his desk and tapped a pendulum beat with his index finger on the telephone receiver, as if he were exploring the last dregs of the possibility barrel in vein hope of a last minute brainwave before making the dreaded call. Eventually, he conceded the inevitable. With a quick glance up towards the heavens that presumably constituted a plea for celestial forgiveness, Joe lifted the handset and carefully punched a numeric series into the phone from memory. He waited, listened, then spoke in response to some automated instructions.
- Whiskey, Victor, Alpha, Uniform, Papa, Three, Seven, Oscar, Victor, Alpha
Joe waited once again. The line was quiet for a few moments. Then a click and a brief shot of interference which faded. There was an audible clearing of the throat at the other end of the line.
- Can you confirm Joe, that you are currently alone in office B of the Institution, you are speaking of your own free will and are not being forced to answer under false pretences in any situation similar to, but not limited to a hostage situation?
Joe was familiar with the security protocol.
- I am in office B of the Institution with Harrison Morgan, who as you’ll be aware is also privy to the project. We’re alone.
- Thank you Joe. It’s Steve Towerbridge here.
- Hello Steve.
- So what can I do you for?
- We’ve had an occurrence of a B12 in the early hours of this morning Steve.
- Can you confirm, that’s a bravo 12?
- Uh,hu. Confirmed. Bravo 12, Steve.
- Patient number?
- 32.
There was a pause on the line.
- Adam Trundle?
- Indeed.
- I thought as much after our conversation last night. How long since he got out?
- About an hour and a half now.
- Was anybody in pursuit when he fled?
- No Sir. He left through a secondary exit with no sign of a break out. I’d suggest he got himself a key from somewhere. All exterior gates are in tact, so he may have scaled the fence, though that seems a tall order and would probably mean he’s carrying an injury.
- Have you checked the immediate vicinity?
Steve’s line of questioning was expertly precise and left no room for chewing the breeze. Each laser beam question he asked probed clinically down to the nitty gritty of the situation. It was as if he was working from a script, but his questions were too bespoke to have been referenced from a premeditated list. Steve lived this project. And he was simply that good.
- Yes, we’ve checked the surrounding area. No sign of him.
- Ok Joe. If he’s mobile, which I’m guessing he is. He could be anywhere by now. What does he know or what has he seen that might leave us exposed should he start running his mouth?
- Well that’s the thing Steve. He was already suspicious. Fortunately, we hadn’t got around to telling him the full extent of things before the incident with Harry.
- So he knows nothing?
- He knows about the experiments. Only that they happened though. He doesn’t know what they caused. Fucking hell Steve… I knew it was a bad idea bringing him into the loop. I said that to you on the phone last night.
- I disagree. He was onto something, so he would have snooped until he found enough dirt to cause mayhem. Even then he would probably have made the same escape anyway. At least this way, you’ve tried to tell him on your terms. He up and left before he got the full story. That was his choice. It’s probably a good thing for us now.
- Uh hu.
- Look, Joe. You know what comes next. We can’t take the risk of what he may or may not achieve on his little day trip. CP1 protocol is our only option now.
Joe put his head in his free hand and let out a short t
- Joe, I don’t feel any better about this than you do, but we all knew the deal when we signed up. It’s a privilege to be working on a project like this, but it doesn’t come without its trauma. You must have known this would happen eventually Joe.
Joe ignored Steve’s rationale. He didn’t need to hear it. Not because he objected to it, but because he knew Steve was right.
- Who is the counterpart Steve?
For the first time in the conversation, Steve was caught unprepared for Joe’s question. He paused, then stuttered, then paused again.
- Just treat the counterpart as a number Joe. As an ingredient of an experiment. An experiment that’s going to do so much good in the long run. This is just early collateral damage Joe. You know that eventually we will…
- Tell me the name of the counterpart Steve!
Joe’s interruption was so neutral and void of emotion that Steve stopped dead in his tracks. What difference did it make to Joe anyway? He didn’t know anyone in Ducie personally. He’d joined the project after the last of the counterparts were shipped to the island. He’d never even been given their names. They were just a list of numbers. 1 through to 61.They could have been bingo balls for all it really mattered to him. But it did matter to him. And Steve knew that now.
- In Ducie, the counterpart goes by the name of Lionel Martinez.
The line went quiet for a few seconds.
- Joe, we’re pushed for time with this. I’ll make the call and get things moving. All I need from you is to keep the place running business as usual.
- And if anyone asks where Adam is?
- He’s been a bit unwell and he’s with the doctor. Nothing more, nothing less. I’m presuming Kate knows the deal, so you’ll need to brief her of the cover story. Other than that my friend, it’s just another day at the Institution.
- Uh hu.
- Joe!
Steve’s calm tone momentarily raised to almost a shout.
- …you know what’s at stake here don’t you? I know it’s a tough gig, but you can do this for me can’t you?
Again, a pause.
- I’ve got it Steve. Business as usual.