Chapter 103

Wednesday

Seven Days To Go

Martinè

The place was almost in an uproar when I woke. Marines and serving staff running everywhere. Ever sharp-witted, I thought 'Something's going on.'

There was a knock on my bedroom door. Isabel answered it and allowed Gerry to come in.

"Boss, Captain Bands has been summoned to London, she's to be there at 09:30 their time. The summons only arrived at 07:00 their time too. They want her to miss this appointment Boss. Is there anything that you can do?" she asked almost in despair.

"Where's our helicopter?" I asked. That could put Elastic in the heart of London in 45 minutes.

Gerry smiled, "It's on the lawn, Boss, and thanks from all of us."

10 minutes later, I watched as the helicopter took off. Elastic, dressed in her naval finery, would be early for her appointment at the Admiralty.

I wandered away to sit by the pool. Perhaps I'd get a chance at cuddling Susan again.

"Master, please may I look at your hand. I want to see if the stitches can come out yet?" Elise looked a little worried, while she had started to get used to us, and me, as her Master in particular, she still was unsure about using her medical authority to require me to do what she wanted.

Elise was an excellent medic, and when it was her turn she would be going to London to work under Ross for a while and complete her medical studies. Em was our first, our primary, doctor; but she wasn't going to be our last by any means.

Glad of something useful to do I accompanied her to the sick room. Two of our nurses dropped to their knees when they saw me enter. They quickly obeyed Elise's orders, though, fetching her the items she desired and taking away the soiled bandages.

While Elise removed the external stitches I looked around the sick room. It gleamed. Everything was neat and tidy, a place for everything, and everything in its place. We now had two small 'consulting' rooms, both identical. This might seem like needless bureaucracy, and petty-mindedness, but when a life might hang on knowing exactly where an item is, then one tends to get quite OCD about these things.

Elise then gave me an infernal device. This strapped to my wrist and, using springs, pulled my fingers back to stretch the skin of my palm. I was to wear this each night as I slept.

I don't think that I growled at her. Not much anyway. And she was smiling as I left. Happy to be with me, or relief at my departure? I'd have to ask Umber.

London

Sasha and Nigel stood watching the workmen as they prepared to break the wall. This seven-foot-thick wall had puzzled Sasha since it had first been pointed out to her. Nigel had suggested that it might have been a listening post for spying on work taking place in that sub-basement. They'd even erected false walls to protect their staff from whatever might be within those seven feet.

And, today, they were going to discover the walls secrets.

Feeling a little ridiculous, Sasha and Nigel had donned hazmat - hazardous materials - suits. Now, with the sounds of piped air loud in their ears they watched as a specialist, also in a fluorescent orange hazmat suit, prepared to break the wall.

The sound of the drill hurt their ears, but these suits wouldn't allow them to wear ear protection, the suits own communications devices helped a little, but, neither would step back. Both leaned forward, intent on the progress of that drill bit.

They'd tested for all sorts of radiations and chemicals, all with no success. They'd tried x-rays, but without getting an understandable image. Ultrasound techniques only showed the brick to a depth of four inches. Four inches, the standard width for a UK house brick. Metal detectors were worse than useless. No two charts produced with metal detectors ever agreed. Magnetic anomaly detectors were tried. Once. There was too much interference around for these super-sensitive devices to work.

A sample of the paint and plaster had been removed and sent for analysis. Both were said to be more than 30 years old. Resistivity tests only showed the differences in thickness that would be attributed to a normal, though old fashioned, plaster and lathe construction.

And so, Sasha and Nigel had decided to open the wall and have a look. Sasha had sent all of the staff off to the disaster recovery site, though, unbeknownst to her, the staff knew what was going to happen, and were currently having a picnic on the green in front of their office.

Geoff Chandler, the specialist, had chosen the point for drilling very, very carefully. He was a specialist in entering old buildings, and had worked on a number of high profile restoration projects, opening up very old churches, houses and public buildings. His favourite story was when he had been contracted to find a 'small basement or cellar', under a cathedral. He had drilled through the flag-stone floor and pushed his fibre-optic endoscope through the hole. He couldn't understand why he couldn't see anything. Not until he opened up the hole and found himself looking down into a 100 foot deep cavern which the cathedral had originally been built over. The old wooden supports having rotted away years before.

And now he was ready to use his endoscope again. Poking the very tip of his tongue out, a habit he had when concentrating, he ensured that the lens was clean and the light working. He looked at the mains lead and noted that it was plugged in and the socket switched on.

He was ready. 'Now let's see what's in here.'

Sally looked at the computer screen. It was finished. Her book was finished. Of course there was still loads of work to be done, and she had to sell it as well. That was often the hardest part, well she'd heard that, she hadn't tried to sell a book before. Still, if she was still alive after all this was over, then there'd be a load of publishers vying for publishing rights.

"Come on, Sal, pet, lunch's ready." Bertie called.

Making sure that the document was saved onto both the local disk and 'in the cloud', whatever that was, Sally shut down the computer.

'Bertie's a good cook, ' thought Sally, but there again Bertie was good at everything he turned his hand to. 'He's certainly good with his hands in bed, ' she thought, reddening slightly.

Bertie noticed her embarrassment, but, wisely, said nothing.

"I've finished it," Sally said. Then she took a bite of the coq au vin. It was very good.

"Can I read it?" he asked.

"Of course you can," Sally wondered why he felt he had to ask.

Bertie smiled, "Thank you, Sal, pet. I had to ask, some authors get very ... attached ... to their work. Some writers actually detest anyone who dares suggest changes."

"I hope that you do suggest some changes, there are a few places where my narrative is quite weak, I hope that you can help me stiffen them up a little." Sally replied. She trusted Bertie, hadn't she said that the other day? She trusted him with her life. What he knew could easily have killed her time and time again. Yet he was her staunchest supporter. Sally slipped her hand over his, "Thank you, Bertie, thank you for being the man you are." She had tears in her eyes, almost overwhelmed by emotions, love for him, respect, worry that he might be hurt, a desire to bear his children. Now where had that come from.

Bertie leaned across the table and dried her eyes, "Sal, pet, I love you, I shall give you every second of the rest of my life. I'm sorry but that won't be as long as we might want, but it's all I have."

Now tears did flow, and flow freely, 'He's giving me all he has, what person ever did that for me before? No one has ever said to me ''I'll give you the rest of my life.'' Sally was stunned by the level of her feelings for him.

"Bertie," Sally wondered quite how to ask this, "When this is all over..." she paused unsure of the words to say.

Bertie leaned forward, "Sal, pet, when this is over I will give you whatsoever you desire. If that's a baby, then yes, we will make a baby together."

Sally was unable to speak, her emotions so overwhelmed her. She could only mouth 'Thank you, my love, ' to her lover.

"No, Sal, pet, thank you, for making my lonely life complete."

Now they both held each other and cried, letting their pent-up tensions and emotions out as they hugged and drew strength from each other.

Elastic sat stiffly upright in the hard-backed chair, her eyes never leaving those of Sir Richard Middleditch, the First Sea Lord. She wondered if this interview would include coffee.

Using the techniques taught to her by Paula, Elastic calmed herself, remaining alert, but relaxed. She could maintain this posture for the rest of the day and still be as alert then as she was now. In the field this technique was used to 'blend in' with the background. It was working in this office too, she noticed.

Sir Richard became a little distracted, reaching for a desk drawer and pulling it open a little. Only a squeak from the drawer runners brought him back to what he was supposed to be doing.

"Captain, you've got some very, very powerful friends. Friends who want to see you move up very fast." He tapped a document folder. Elastic was sure it was her personnel record. "Looking through this, I can see why."

Smiling, not unkindly, he pressed a button on his desk. "Burton will show you to your appointment." He rose and, quite unexpectedly, he held out his hand, "I won't say good luck, Captain, because I really don't think you need luck at the moment."

Puzzled, Elastic shook hands with the most powerful Admiral in the fleet; then she turned to follow the quiet man waiting for her by the door.

Birmingham

"Mr. Atkins..." started Dr. Lu.

"It's Doctor Atkins; I am a medical doctor you know." Atkins snarled back at his nemesis.

Dr. Lu looked him in the eye, "If you were a doctor you would be healing your patients. You are just an administrator, Mr. Atkins."

"What can I do for you today, Dr. Lu?" Atkins asked with dread in his heart.

Dr. Lu emptied a black bin liner on his desk. Hundreds of packs of medicines toppled over the desk and onto the floor.

"These medicines are out of date. I want replacements by..."

"Tomorrow," said Atkins softly.

"Yes, or I..."

"Close the unit and go to the papers." Atkins said for her.

"How well we understand each other," said Dr. Lu with a smile. She turned and walked out of the office.

Atkins sat at his desk, pale and shaking. This sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen when you're a powerful, highly paid CEO. But just where had she got those photos from?

London

Elastic recognised the Mall, and then the tall iron railings, and the gate. Seeing the gate she almost panicked. Only her training and natural resilience kept her sitting quietly next to Burton. And she didn't even know if he was Navy, Civil Service, or, thinking about things now, Royal Household.

Elastic just sat quietly as the car drove slowing, sedately, into Buckingham Palace, across the large ceremonial parade ground, through the quite tiny arch and into the central courtyard. Here footmen in livery's hundreds of years old, opened the car door and saluted her.

"MOPS!" shouted Sasha.

"And a bucket," replied Geoff.

"FUCKING MOPS!" repeated Sasha.

Geoff could tell that his employer wasn't actually pleased with the results of his finds. He reached for the endoscope, still in the hole in the wall.

"Leave that fucking thing right there. I need to think for a while." Sasha turned, and started stripping off the hazmat suit as she left the basement. Nigel followed her.

Cumbria

Sir Gerald Huntley faced the group of men he hoped that he'd never have to meet face to face. But circumstances, and the number of failures he'd suffered, demanded that he meet these men.

"This is the target," he said showing an old photo of Paul Winters.

"That's Paul Winters," said one of the men in the rear. "Count me out." He got up and left. Three other men, shaking their heads, followed him. The last one stopped at the door and turned, "You'd better not miss, if you do fuck up, then run as fast as you can. Frosty has survived the Provos, and they're the best there is, even now. So, you win, or ... die." He left the, nearly empty, room.

One more man stood. "I've heard about this man. I'm out." He too left.

Sir Gerald didn't dare let his real feelings show. He needed this man dead.

One of the remaining men laughed out loud, "Fucking pussies." He stood and walked up to Sir Gerald, not noticing the way that Sir Gerald seemed to move away from him. "Does he have any backup?" he asked.

Sir Gerald clicked his remote mouse. Another picture filled the screen. "Only a few girls and women, they've had a little training from this woman apparently," he smiled at his, remaining, audience.

A Korean in the group raised his eyebrow; this small movement was the equivalent of him running round in panic, screaming. He too left the room. No one noticed him leaving. He didn't turn or try to warn his, prospective, colleagues, leaving, he just thought, 'Fools.'

London

Dressed in the uniform of an Admiral of the Fleet, he stood ramrod straight. Though old, past 90, he still retained enough vigour to intimidate lesser men. "So you're Bands, eh? What do they call you? 'Rubber, ' 'Brass, ' no, I bet they call you 'Elastic, ' don't they?"

"Yes, your Highness." Elastic replied, awed by being in the presence of such a man. She tried desperately not to appear intimidated by him.

He laughed, "Her Majesty," he didn't need to explain who he was referring too, "Is minded to elevate you to Baroness, Baroness Irthlingborough." He smiled, "Her Majesty also felt that a promotion to Vice Admiral, would suit your new position as Flag Officer Naval Training as well." He looked a little serious now, "And she feels the need for you to carry two messages for her."

"Of course, Sir," Elastic put in hurriedly, lest she become the object of that seriousness.

"Good, the first is for you to tell Glastbroke to get a move on." He said.

"Yes Sir, Tell him to get a move on, Sir. Yes Sir." Elastic felt that she was babbling. But, given the circumstances, who could blame her.

"And, just to keep the status quo, you are instructed to inform him that he is elevated to Viscount. Viscount Glastbroke. No need to change his estates, is there now?" He really smiled now.

"No Sir," Elastic replied.

Sasha stomped round her office for a while; then she happened to look out of the window. "NIGEL!" cried Sasha, "You did pass on my instructions for everyone to work at the disaster recovery site today, didn't you?"

Nigel came into Sasha's office fresh from a shower and dressed in a towel. They'd both needed a shower after sweltering in the hazmat suits.

"Err ... well ... I... interpreted your instructions," he answered with a guilty grin.

Sasha looked at what appeared to be all of her staff having a picnic on the green in front of the office. "So, 'tell them to work from the DR site tomorrow, ' actually means 'Let's all have a picnic on the green, ' does it?"

Nigel nodded, "Umm ... in this instance, yes it does."

Sasha looked at her number two; she'd depended on him so much as Dempsey had grown. "Nigel," she said quietly, causing him to turn and look at her. "Will you be my partner? Will you share Dempsey with me?"

Nigel looked horrified. "Oh my God, no!" he cried. "Sasha, my best, my dearest, my greatest friend, I'm great at administration. That's where my skills, my gifts are. I can carry out orders, someone else's orders, with no trouble at all. That's what I'm best at. But you, Sasha, dearest friend, you are Dempsey, you are the one we all look to for guidance. You are the one we all follow." He looked down, to the side, looking into his memories, "Sasha even without the Baron, you would have become what you are now. You are the finest legal mind in Europe, and I can say that from experience. Sasha, you are Dempsey. Without you, this company wouldn't exist." He smiled, "Besides if my wife thought that I'd got a Partnership, she'd just start spending more."

Sasha smiled, tears ran freely down her cheeks, "Dearest friend, I once said that I'd met two men that I'd marry, I was wrong, you, my dearest friend, are the third." She cupped his cheek with her right hand. "How is it," she asked him, "That most women search for all of their lives and never meet one man suitable for their own mate? And yet I have met three? How is that fair?"

Nigel shook his head, "You didn't meet these men, you called them to you."

"Even the Baron?" she asked with a grin.

"Even the Baron." Nigel looked thoughtful for a moment or two. "You and the Baron are two of the same. You're both special people." He looked thoughtful, "You both share one special attribute," he lifted her chin to look directly into her eyes. "You both care about people. You really care." He looked sad, disappointed, "My wife, for all of her piousness and charitable works, she doesn't actually care. Oh, she goes through the motions, but she is doing her charity works for what will benefit her, not what will benefit those she supposedly works for."

Sasha lifted her hand and cupped Nigel's cheek. "Nigel, I count you as one of my few real friends. You have an invitation to any of my homes at any time. I have few friends, and I treasure those I have found. Dearest Nigel, come to my home," With a slight grimace she continued, "Nigel, I know you love your wife, and sometimes we cannot choose the one we take as our mate. But my invitation is for you and your wife too."

Now more tears fell from his eyes, he never had anyone try to understand why he loved his, sometimes difficult, wife. Nigel only hoped that she would be as open to Sasha and the Baron, as they were being to her.

"I will," Nigel replied.

Cumbria

"How many do you want alive?" The Moroccan asked. He had risen to be the actual leader of the remaining mercenaries.

Sir Gerald looked a little nervous, "I don't want to bother with prisoners." He replied.

The men looked at each other; Sir Gerald's nervousness told them a lot that he, himself, had tried to keep hidden.

"Tell me straight, Mr. Policeman, do you want me to bring this man back to you alive, or would you prefer him dead?" The man who asked this was medium height, but projected a 'presence.'