Miles Brennan handed the security guard at Brinkley House his watch, mobile phone and hand gun. The guard placed them in a box and slid it into a shelving unit. Brennan walked through a metal-detector arch and the light on the overhead gantry turned green. He waited several metres away from a ridged black door, which blocked his path. The click of a lock releasing came from the door.
‘Step into the pod and keep your eyes closed,’ the guard said. ‘Exit the pod when you hear the all-clear alarm and make your way to the lifts. You’ll be escorted from there.’
‘How many times have I been here?’ he asked. ‘I know the routine.’
The guard’s expression didn’t change. ‘Step into the pod, Mr Brennan.’
Brennan held the guard’s glare for a moment then pulled open the ridged door and stepped into the E-M Pod; the door automatically closing itself behind him. The Pod was the only pedestrian entrance into Brinkley House and everyone coming and going had to pass through it. It may only have been four metres long and three wide but it was the building’s most effective security measure. The door closed with a soft metallic whoosh, and then sealed itself. Brennan raised his arms, elbows high, and covered his eyes with both hands.
He heard the Pod come to life – at first it was a low-pitched hum but within seconds reached a high frequency as the magnets were activated. The machine achieved full power and the Pod was bathed in a blinding white light as the electro-magnetic pulse washed through the space. Long gone was the time when a simple metal detector was deemed enough. In this building no electrical device was allowed in unless under express orders from one person. And such an order rarely came.
After several seconds the light dulled and the beep, beep, beep of the all-clear alarm sounded. Brennan lowered his arms and waited for the door at the far end to open. The E-M Pod led onto a large concourse of dark marble, with a staircase in one corner and a row of lifts at the far end. Chris Matthews waited at the furthest lift on the right hand side.
‘You’re to wait in the outer lobby,’ he told Brennan as he placed his thumb onto an encoder pad. A thin beam of red light scanned his thumb and after a moment the screen turned green. The lift doors glided opened on silent hinges and Brennan followed Matthews into the polished metal box.
‘Penthouse,’ Matthews said.
A barely audible high-pitched sound began. Brennan was sure the lift was moving but the usual feel of gravity was missing. There were no floor indicator markers inside the lift and for all he knew they could be standing still while, like on a movie set, someone was changing the scenery outside to make it look as if he’d moved.
‘Takes some getting used to, doesn’t it?’ Matthews said as he saw the look on Brennan’s face. ‘The movement, I mean? Or rather, the lack of it. It’s a new inertia-free drive system we’ve developed. No cables at all. It’s all done with magnetic fields. Fascinating technology. We’re trying to adapt it for military use.’
‘Sure,’ Brennan answered, ‘fascinating. Am I to be briefed by Control?’
‘I couldn’t say. I’ve just been told that you should wait in the outer lobby.’
‘For how long?’
Matthews shrugged his shoulders.
‘Great.’
Brennan sat on the black leather armchair in the outer lobby for nearly an hour before the door opposite him opened and Gregory Dryden appeared.
‘This way,’ he said turning away and walking through into another room.
Brennan rose from the chair and followed Dryden through into an austere office. It had a desk, telephone, a computer screen, an armchair and a window covered with a Venetian blind. There was another door set into the opposite wall.
‘Close the door,’ Dryden said as he eased himself into the armchair. The fabric of his maroon suit rippled.
Brennan did as he was told and then adopted an army-like stance before the desk.
‘Do you wish to explain yourself?’ Dryden asked.
‘Explain myself?’
‘Your fiasco in America,’ Dryden continued. ‘The reason I brought you to D-section in the first place was in the belief that you were the best, that you excelled in this area.’
‘I thought I was brought in because there had suddenly become a vacancy.’
‘Quite,’ Dryden gave a thin smile. ‘Still, I wonder what gauge was used to assess your abilities, given what I’ve seen of you so far.’
Brennan bit his tongue and took a deep breath. ‘Are you Control?’
Dryden held Brennan’s stare then nodded once; slight and sharp.
‘In any operational situation,’ Brennan started, his shoulders squaring, ‘there is always the risk of unknown factors which can ultimately lead to a non-positive mission status. Sir.’
‘Oh, please. This isn’t some parliamentary enquiry, so save your well-rehearsed soft-soap excuses for another time. You failed in a straightforward mission, Brennan; it’s as simple as that. I sent you to retrieve a boy and the task was clearly too much for you.’
‘You could always transfer me. If you think I’m not up to it.’
‘I see that I can add petulance to your list of qualities. No, Mr Brennan, I am not going to transfer you. You’re going to prove to me that your record, so far, is justified.’
Dryden tapped at the computer screen and a small plastic card popped out of a hidden slot. He placed the card onto the desk. Brennan noticed that the man’s fingers were long and thin and had spotlessly clean, trimmed nails. His gaze shifted to the arm of Dryden’s suit. There was something about the way the cloth caught the light, the way it … moved.
‘Tiberius was assisted in his evasion of capture and in his fleeing of this country,’ Dryden began, and then recognised the vacant expression in the grey eyes of the man opposite. He smiled and leaned back in his chair. Another victim for the suit.
He snapped his fingers together three times. ‘Are you quite paying attention, Mr Brennan?’
Brennan blinked hard. It was almost like being woken out of a trance. ‘Absolutely.’
‘You will identify those responsible,’ Dryden continued, ‘and when you have you will escort them here for further questioning.’
‘For what purpose?’
‘For the purpose of those being my orders,’ Dryden hissed. ‘I don’t require you to question them or comprehend their reasoning. Just carry them out. Do you understand?’
‘Yes … sir.’
‘Good. This card has what you will need.’
Brennan picked the card up, intentionally keeping his gaze low, and slipped it into his jacket.
‘So what are you waiting for?’ Dryden asked after a few silent moments. He reached under the desk and pressed a hidden button. ‘Wait in the lobby to be escorted down.’
Brennan turned on his heels and returned to the lobby rubbing his eyes, the two doors between him and Control sealing vacuum-tight.