"I don't know about all this."
"I do. It's got to be worth it in the long run."
Vickers wondered what kind of persuasion was being used on them up here in the peon levels.
"I sure hope so. What the fuck is that?"
The overhead lights had come on at the far end of the living area. Row after row of the flourescent panels came to life, a regular measured progress across the ceiling. Vickers grabbed for his shirt.
"Maybe I had better get out of here."
"I don't think all this is on your account."
Speakers crackled in confirmation.
"Now hear this! Now hear this! This is a yellow alert. All personnel will go immediately to their designated emergency stations. I repeat. This is a yellow alert. All personnel will go immediately to their emergency stations. This is a general order. There will be no exceptions. This is not a drill. This is a full yellow alert. This is not a drill. This is not a drill. Now hear this…"
The speakers repeated the message over again. Vickers was struggling into his pants.
"I don't think they're messing around."
All over the area women, and a small smattering of visiting men, were hastily pulling on their clothes. Some were already running for the exits.
"This is a not a drill. This is a yellow alert. Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!"
The hectoring speakers refused to let up. Vickers slipped into his jacket. Johanna had everything on but her shoes. She looked up at Vickers.
"I'll see you again?"
"Sure."
"Kiss me."
They kissed briefly and then went their separate ways. Vickers jogged to the nearest elevator. In the event of a yellow alert, the security teams were supposed to assemble at a central point on the fourth level. There was a small crowd clustered around the elevators. Vickers saw the huge form of Yabu, head and shoulders above the handlers. While Vickers was still a dozen yards from the elevator bank a red light flashed and the doors opened on a down elevator. Yabu and a number of handlers stepped inside. Vickers called out.
"Hey Yabu, hold the lift!"
Yabu grabbed the closing door and pushed it back. Vickers slipped inside.
"It seems like some kind of shit is hitting the fan."
Yabu was impassive. "Maybe we'll see some action."
Vickers had absolutely no relationship with the giant Oriental. On a couple of occasions he had tried and failed to strike a conversation with him. After that he'd given up trying. It was thus that Vickers was more than a little surprised when he looked directly at him and smiled a Zen smile.
"You visit with the handler women?"
Vickers nodded. "Yeah, I guess so."
Yabu looked approving. "A man needs to get fucked now and again if he is to stay sane and healthy. I do the same myself."
He looked away; the conversation seemed to have been abruptly terminated. The handlers around them were having trouble stifling fits of giggles. Vickers shrugged. He was a little relieved when the doors slid open and he and Yabu were able to make their exit onto the fourth level.
The majority of four security groups were already assembled. The only one of his group who had yet to arrive was Eggy. As he joined the other three, they glanced at him briefly. Parkwood treated him to the slightest of conspiratorial smiles. Presumably it was supposed to indicate that he had had an entertaining time with Yvonne. It was the furthest he'd ever been in terms of camaraderie. After the swift, all round acknowledgement, the attention switched off. Everyone was too concerned with what was coming out of the speakers. The ones down on the fourth level were much more informative. They appeared to have been broadcasting situation details for some time.
"… an exchange of tactical nuclear weapons is now being reported from the area to the west of Poznan where the forces of Greater Germany and West Poland have been engaged with a large splinter group of the Red Army. As of yet, there are no details of the exact circumstances or who fired first but a number of corporation satellites are relaying accounts of up to four detonations of a size consistent with atomic shells or neutron minisiles. Unconfirmed accounts from Berlin indicate, however, that the German and Polish front lines are being overrun by near-suicidal Russian attacks."
The elevator doors opened again and another anxious crowd rushed out. Eggy was among them. He hurried up to the rest of the group looking like he hadn't slept.
"Sounds like the ice has started to crack."
"That's one way of looking at it."
"Has anyone told us what we're supposed to be doing?"
"Not yet."
Mobs of people streamed past, all apparently possessed of both a purpose and a sense of urgency, while the security groups stood around feeling a little like forgotten spare pans as the speakers repeated the same bulletin over and over. Finally there was a news report. It did nothing to raise anyone's spirits.
"A report is now coming in from a Space Inc. observation satellite that a flight of intermediate-range surface-to-surface missiles, possibly SS 2000s or SS 2100s, are lifting from a complex of silos near Slutsk in White Russia, near the East Polish border. Although this launch hasn't been confirmed by any other satellite, it would appear to be a response to the battlefield exchange west of Poznan."
Still nobody had instructed them what to do. Then Fenton pointed.
"Here comes Deakin."
"About damn time."
Deakin wasn't just coming, he was coming at a run. He was out of breath and most of his normal bumptiousness had been sweated away. He waved quickly at the group.
"All of you, follow me. On the double."
Eggy fell into step beside him.
"What's going on?"
"All hell's breaking loose, that's what's going on."
The first stop was the armory where the group was given a choice of either pump shotguns or machine pistols. Vickers drew his customary Yasha. While he was taping three clips back to back for an ultrafast reload, another bulletin came over the public address.
"The launch of Russian intermediate range missiles is confirmed by four more satellites. A number of missiles have exploded in midair and more seem on course for nowhere but the open sea. This is only to be expected from the current chaos that is the Soviet Union. The remainder appear to be directly on target and are expected to reach their strikepoints in a little over eight minutes. Western Europe is under full nuclear attack. I will repeat that. Western Europe is under full nuclear attack."
It was only at the very end that the announcer's voice faltered. Bach's Toccata in D Minor welled up to fill the silence. Someone in what had come to be called the radio station couldn't resist a production. Then another voice took over.
"The bunker is now on Full Red Alert. All personnel, without exception, will stand to. The bunker is on Full Red Alert. This is not a drill. The Bunker is on Full Red Alert until further notice."
Bach was replaced by funereal electronics. There was no holding back the chill. The security group jogged to the nearest elevator. All over the bunker hooters were blowing, lights flashed and sirens wailed. People went on with their duties as though trying to drown the ballooning fear in routine. Everyone avoided everyone else's eyes and panic was, in some cases, only held at bay by inches. The handlers and facers who were clustered around the lift entrance backed away as Deakin and his charges ran up. As they rode the elevator, Deakin breathlessly issued their instructions.
"We're going up to the first level to reinforce discipline. Under a Red Alert the personnel on the surface are withdrawn into the first level. Any disturbance would be a disaster. You will be there to see that any potential disturbance is immediately stamped on."
"We're supposed to do this on our own?"
"Of course not. There are a hundred or more uniformed troops up there. You are simply back-up. You have a roving brief. You look for individuals who are about to become hysterical. You will shoot them out of hand. You understand that? If there's a problem simply kill it. You do not have the option of asking questions. Okay?"