The Truman Quest by D S Bruce

Author:D S Bruce
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd
Published: 2022-08-02T00:00:00+00:00

Twenty-four

Phillip Faulkner, Director for Homeland Security, had just swallowed down two more paracetamols for what seemed like his permanent headache. A large Scotch had assisted their passage down his gullet. The day had been passing painlessly enough right up until Stephen Greenhawn, that idiot Head of Cybernet Intelligence, had come blundering in.

‘Sir, the internet’s going crazy! There’s been some kind of incident at Derringham Commando Training Base. It’s in Devon.’

How the hell did a slimy toad like Greenhawn find out this kind of information well before the head of the organisation did, Faulkner wondered again. Bloody world wide web, of course!

‘Thank you, Greenhawn. I know where the damned base is located. What kind of incident?’

‘Well, it sounds like some kind of attack on it!’

Faulkner’s heart actually missed a beat. Greenhawn passed across a tablet displaying photos, texts and emails they had intercepted.

Oh, God! The most appalling of all Faulkner’s appalling nightmares was becoming reality!

‘Who’s sending this stuff out?’ he demanded.

‘Civilians on the base and motorists.’

‘Lock it down! I want all servers to that base and surrounding areas within a fifty-mile radius shutting down immediately. Do you understand?’

‘I can’t do that without written authorisation!’ Greenhawn challenged.

Faulkner grabbed a notepad and wrote rapidly in block capitals: ‘SHUT DOWN THE SERVERS AT DERRINGHAM IMMEDIATELY, YOU ARSE!’

‘How’s that?’ he asked, showing Greenhawn.

‘Sir, that’s an official memo!’

‘You’re right. Let’s scrub “arse”. That’ll be our little secret. Now do it! And, before you go, is Windridge still on the premises?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Is. Windridge. Still. Here?’ Faulkner enunciated, as if he were talking to a total idiot.

‘Er… I think so… Sir, I’ve been meaning to speak to you again about Windridge. Attitude and general aptitude are well below par, sir.’

‘You really want to speak to me about personnel issues at a moment like this, Greenhawn? Really?’

‘My department’s suffering. General Assurance rated me at only three on the last performance indicator. It’s affecting my output, sir!’

‘I don’t give a damn how it’s affecting your bloody bowel movements! I want them! Now! You understand? And get hold of Spencer too. Now, Greenhawn!’

The news from Derringham had pole-axed Faulkner. That pathetic-looking figure being held at the barracks was, apparently, an ‘alien’. Not an ‘alien’ illegal immigrant; that would have been easy to sort. Not a terrorist; even easier. Not a Soviet spy; an absolute doddle to handle.

No, what they had there down at Derringham was, seemingly, a genuine creature from a planet outside the solar system. If Morris had done his job properly, precautions could, perhaps, have been taken to increase security by moving it to some other location. But, dammit, Derringham was as secure as it got anywhere! Now there were at least two of the bloody things apparently!

What did this all add up to? An invasion?!

Faulkner knew that other foreign intelligence service chiefs would soon be on his back, for he had informed none of the NATO allies. The Yanks, for one, would be furious.

So why had he not informed them? Because until this moment he’d never really believed it.

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