I watched until the bulky figures had disappeared from view, then returned the phone to Melissa.
“Nothing new there,” she said.
“No,” I said. “Unfortunately.”
“So what’s the verdict?”
“I need to go in.”
“You’re certain? Because I don’t think it’s a very good idea.”
“I’m not certain, no. But I think I should.”
“OK,” she said, leaning down to unzip the karate bag. “Let’s get it over with, then. Have you ever used one of these before?”
“Not a civilian one,” I said, taking off my coat and hanging it on a pipe that snaked out from one of the old ventilation machines. “But I’ve done the standard drills in NBC suits a couple of times. They can’t be too different.”
“I hope not. And there are a couple of problems you should know about. There’s only seven minutes of oxygen left, according to the gauge on the tank. And the radio’s missing.”
“That shouldn’t matter. Seven minutes will be long enough.”
“Are you sure? Because you don’t want to be cutting it fine, in there. You can’t just look at your watch. And with no radio I can’t warn you when you’re getting close.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to linger, in there.”
“And what if you have a problem? You won’t be able to call for help.”
“It wouldn’t make any difference. We only have one suit. It’s not like you could come in after me.”
“I don’t like it. It’s dangerous.”
“Nonsense,” I said, slipping off my boots. “It’ll be a walk in the park.”
The hazmat suit was surprisingly easy to move in, because it was much looser than the military versions I’d had experience with before. It was harder to see out of, though, because the visor was smaller and further from your face. It looked comical rather than menacing, because it was bright yellow rather than matte black. But one thing was very similar. The heat you generated as soon as it was on. I knew that even seven minutes was going to feel like a very long time.
Melissa had given me the security code for the door to the caesium vault, but I had trouble entering the digits because the clumsy gauntlets turned my fingers into bratwursts. Eventually, after three tries, the tiny indicator light switched from red to green and the door swung open. I lumbered through and waited for it to close automatically behind me. For a moment I stood alone, in the dark. Then, one after another, four banks of fluorescent ceiling lights flickered into life and gave me the first glimpse of my new environment.
Maybe my expectations had been shaped by being in a hospital, where things are supposed to sterile. Or maybe all the talk of exotic chemicals had led me to imagine the kind of pristine laboratories you see on TV. But whatever the reason, I was surprised by what I saw. The room was square, maybe fifty feet by fifty. I was standing in front of the entrance, at the centre of one wall. Another heavy steel door stood out from the rough whitewashed brickwork directly opposite me. There obviously weren’t any windows, but the wall space was busy all the same with safety notices, radiation monitors, fire extinguishers, two large Swiss Railway style clocks, and a bank of round nozzles for supplying oxygen via flexible tubes to the sort of hazmat suits that can be used for extended periods of time. There was also a selection of posters. Two on each wall. But these weren’t framed like the CEO’s had been.
The rest of the space was divided into four zones, each with an apparently different purpose. Immediately to my right was a work area - two pairs of desks, cluttered with papers and computers and all the other standard office paraphernalia. Diagonally to my right, opposite the desks, was a place to relax - four easy chairs, evenly arranged around the sides of a threadbare rug. Their tweed covers were worn and stained, and a chipped coffee table sat between them. It was complete with unruly piles of newspapers and two dirty mugs. A low cupboard in the corner was home to a kettle, a biscuit tin, and a giant whisky bottle half full of pound coins. The redundant generator Melissa had mentioned completely filled the far left hand corner. Nothing seemed to be attached to it anymore, and as if it were in disgrace for no longer supplying power, it was surrounded by the bars of a metal cage. The final area was fenced off in the same way. Its central section was designed to slide to one side, but it was locked in place. I didn’t have the key, but that wasn’t a problem. I didn’t need to open it. I could see what was inside. There was a metal table, which was bolted to the floor. A clipboard, hanging from a nail on the wall. And one other thing. A metal canister. It was silver. Shiny. Eighteen inches high.
And marked with the unmistakable, universal symbol for radiation.
Chapter Twenty-One
I picked the same chair in the meeting room in Thames House the next morning, but the leather was noticeably cooler than the last time I’d sat in it. Melissa was at my side, once again, and her boss - Colin Chaston - was opposite us. Arthur Hardwicke – the Deputy DG – was back in his place at the head of the table, but on this occasion his attention seemed to be focused entirely on a paper clip. He’d pried one end open so that it stuck straight out, and was rolling it up and down between his thumb and index finger, causing the rest of the clip to spin like a tiny propeller. I watched the thin strand of metal relentlessly twirling round, and realised it mimicked the thoughts that had been plaguing me since last night. I was back to trying to solve the problem rather than assign blame. But old habits die hard. And with so much at stake, what else are you supposed to do?
“So we’re dealing with two supposedly impossible things,” the Deputy DG said, without interrupting the even rotation of the clip. “A canister in a room where there should be no canisters. And caesium in a canister, when all the caesium in the country is apparently accounted for elsewhere. There definitely was caesium in the canister?”
“Yes, sir,” Melissa said. “The lab’s confirmed it.”
“Can we assume it was connected to the current threat against the government?” he said.
“I never like to assume anything,” she said. “But that does seem reasonable.”
“What have you done about it?”
“The container was removed for inspection, and the caesium is now under guard at an army facility. A replica was put in its place in the vault, complete with an invisible tracking device, and a wireless surveillance camera has been installed which is independent of the hospital’s joke of a system.”
“Those are good moves,” Chaston said. “But the room was checked on the night of the robbery. It was definitely empty. Photos were taken. I’ve seen them. There were no canisters. So how could there be one last night?”
“Someone put it there,” Melissa said.
“When?”
“Sometime after the photos were taken.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“That’s as specific as we can be, right now.”
“Why was it put there?”
“A couple of reasons, I guess. One - can you think of a better place to store radioactive material than a specially designed and secured vault? And two - it’s the last place anyone would think to look.”