“I’ll find out, there’s a file on the man. I’ll get you a copy.”
“Thanks. Okay, I’ll take a look, but make no promises. Why not send in the Regiment?”
“The Minister wants to avoid any embarrassment on this one. He could end up completely ruined if he’s not careful.”
“Why help that bastard politician? He’s the one making all those soldiers redundant to save money.”
“Because, my boy, I still happen to be on the side of the Crown. If that data gets out it may end up in someone else’s hands, then that would be criminal!”
“Okay, boss. I’ll do it. Usual fee?”
“Twenty-five thousand up front and the rest on completion.”
We shook hands and he passed me a dossier.
“You’ve three weeks,” he said.
“If I can’t get in, you’ll know in one.”
“Do the best you can, Rob. You always were one of the best.”
“So was Ray.”
“That’s true,” he said, nodding.
I stood up. “Thanks for the coffee, boss. I’ll call you on the mobile when I’m in.”
I left and now was sitting in the rain watching the traffic flow past.
The plans were complex, but I was well used to reading similar ones to these for all kinds of operations. This place had been rewired with some heavy duty cabling. There must be some hefty voltage passing through this facility. On the previous day, I had chartered a helicopter from Denham airfield and taken a few aerial shots on my digital camera.
I was convinced that there was no way through the gate or the wire. There was no way over the wire, as the compound was completely covered. That left underground.
There were three conduits going under the wire and into the facility - water, sewage and power cabling.
I knew the water would be in small pipes and under high pressure. The electric cabling would be tight, so that left the sewage. However, as I followed the lines across the plan, I saw there was a filtration plant in mid compound that was dealing with the sewage from the building. That meant I would still not get into the main building even if I could get half way.
I looked again. This was a really tricky one!
I decided to go for a drink at a pub just down the road.
The King’s Head was an old pub and was virtually empty at noon as I entered. There was a middle-aged man behind the bar. He was attempting the Daily Mail quick crossword. He looked up with mild surprise as I entered. It was a cold and wet February day, so few were venturing out.
I ordered a pint and a steak pie.
I spread the plans out on the table as I drank my beer, hoping for a brainwave.
“Hello, a surveyor or architect?”
I looked up to see a young woman looking down at me.
“Surveyor, why?”
“I want to study architecture at university. I’m just saving up by working here.”
“Oh.”
She placed a mat and some cutlery on the table.
“Where’s that?” she asked, looking at my plans as an old-timer wandered over. I was the best show in town, obviously.
“The old MAFF place down the road. Some developers want to buy it and build flats or houses. I’ve got to take a look and see what services are available and what needs to be done.”
The old man peered at the paper and shook his head.
“I remember it when it were a POW camp. T’was at the end of the war and them Italians didn’t want to go home. Some of them stayed there for a couple of years after the end, while a few never went back,” he said. His broad Buckinghamshire accent was rare these days, as the London commuter was buying up most of the properties in the county as they spread inexorably outwards from the advancing London sprawl.
“Oh yeah?” I said, mildly interested.
“I was just a kid, mind, but we used to go up there and play. There was the old air raid shelter they’d built for the POW guards. We’d pretend to be at the Normandy beaches. There was even an old pill box and tank traps.”
“I take the dog in the woods. I’ve never seen anything,” the girl said.
I smiled, drank my beer and looked at her. She was a little plump and short, but cheerful and not unattractive. I’d been without female company for so long, even she looked good. I squashed my thoughts and turned back to the old man.
“How big was the shelter?”
“Don’t rightly know, as we never went right up the end. There was a bunker down there, but we never had the balls to explore. There was some stairs down and a big door. We got caught once by a security man, told to bugger off, we were.”
“Where was it? Look on the plans, this is the main road, here’s the gate,” I said, pointing to the large sheet on the table.
He stared at the plans.
“It all looks different now. These woods weren’t there then. The shelter was in them woods. The main door was here somewhere!” he said, prodding an elderly, nicotine-stained finger onto the plan. I marked the smudge with a pencil ‘X’.
I then wasted some more time talking about the war. I bought him a drink and he was happy. The girl brought me my food and I finished it listening to the old man’s national service in the Far East.
I left the pub and made for the planning office at Aylesbury District Council. Using my charm and false Home Office identification card, I gained access to the archives for the old wartime plans.
Bingo!
I found the plans for the POW camp, and it included the shelter and command bunker.
All I needed now for the shelter to be still in existence, and for there to be a way in!
Chapter Two.
I’d waited until nightfall and, dressed in the statutory black, I made my way carefully though the woodland. I’d left my car some two miles away in a fertiliser factory car park, so it wouldn’t stand out. I hid the keys in a small hole I dug behind a road-sign. I knew enough never to go into any situation with anything that could identify me.
I had my night vision goggles on, a small pouch with some tools as well as my Motorola cell phone. I had my wristwatch, which also had a small compass on the strap. I wasn’t armed, unless you count my knife in my boot. I found the woodland dense and full of debris. However, it was also patrolled.
Two men in an ex-army Land Rover drove through the woods on a dirt track. I heard them coming before I saw them, so kept down out of the glare of the headlights. I hoped they weren’t using thermal imaging. They drove on, so I breathed again.
Despite knowing roughly where the shelter was, it took me two hours to find the entrance. The brick and concrete had crumbled, leaving a metal door rusting in the weather, covered with brambles and old ferns. Had it been summer, I’d have never found it. By this time, my knee was aching abominably. I took a quick bearing of the complex, so knew in which direction I should be heading to get underneath it.
Using my case-opener/jemmy, I levered the door up and found myself looking down into inky darkness smelling a musty damp aroma emanating from the gloom. I entered, scrabbling on my belly through a hole just large enough for a man. The roots and cobwebs told me that no one had passed this way for some time.
The ruined entrance shaft lasted fifteen feet, heading down at an angle of around forty-five degrees. Behind a pile of debris and old branches, I came to another steel door, which at first appeared tightly closed. However, it was shut but not locked. Once again, using my jemmy and a lot of sweat, I managed to lever it open a couple of inches.
Taking my small canister of oil, I liberally sloshed it over the large rusty hinges. The door took some work, but I managed to open it. I was bathed in sweat and breathing hard. I smiled. I wasn’t even in the facility yet, so I hoped the next phase would be easier.