The Adjacent (36 page)

She took off her half-moon spectacles and wiped them with a tissue.

‘You said you went through Notting Hill,’ she said.

‘Well, I told you I couldn’t see –’

‘Tell me again. It’s the most important thing in my life.’

‘There’s hardly anything. I was in a car and there were OOR officials with me. I think part of what they were doing was making
sure that either I didn’t see much, or didn’t ask too many questions. They blacked the windows so we couldn’t see out, but at one point they were worried about a storm coming in. They made the windows transparent again so they could look at the clouds building up, and I could see outside. It was just a few seconds.’

‘Where were you? What did you see?’

‘I only know it was somewhere in west London because they were talking about that. But my wife had just been killed, I had been travelling for days, I hadn’t had much sleep and I was disoriented. I had no idea where I really was.’

‘But you saw something.’

‘No – I saw almost literally nothing. It was all black outside.’

‘Was it night-time?’

‘No, it was coming up to the evening. There was still daylight.’

‘So what did you see that was black?’

‘Just, everything. I didn’t know what I was seeing, so I had no reference points. You can imagine – I was in a car with the windows darkened, then they were lightened and everything I saw was black. Almost immediately the officials darkened the glass again.’

‘Did you see if it had made a triangle, as they say?’

‘I don’t know. I couldn’t see. I’m really sorry. I’d tell you more if I knew more.’

‘I’ve heard it was an adjacency weapon. That was what killed your wife too, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ said Tarent. ‘Melanie too.’

THEY WENT TOGETHER TO THE VENDING MACHINE, BUT
before they used it Lou pointed out that the canteen further down the same corridor had re-opened. There were a surprising number of people there – surprising to Tarent because he had begun to assume that they were more or less alone at Warne’s Farm. He realized there must be a quota of workers still in residence. Heavy rain was falling outside but the wind was no longer a destructive force. Lou acknowledged a few of the people as they passed, but she made no effort to introduce Tarent to any of them. He noticed the Frenchman he had met when he first arrived: Bertrand Lepuits. He seemed not to recognize Tarent, and glanced away as soon as their eyes met.

The canteen kitchen had prepared some basic hot food: a choice
between a meat stew or vegetarian pasta – Tarent took the stew, Lou the pasta. There was no charge, but they were asked to pay for drinks. Tarent had no cash so Lou paid for them both.

When they went back to the residential block afterwards, the familiar feeling of isolation returned: the other people they had seen were presumably housed in the same sort of self-contained quarters, or worked in the other buildings. In the long, silent corridors of the residential block there was no sense of other people being around.

They spoke in the corridor briefly, but then Lou returned to her own room. Tarent went to his. She said she would look in later.

For a while he stared out at the debris that had gathered in the quadrangle, but even as he stood there at his window workmen in tractors began to clear the ground. The largest branches were moved away in one direction, everything else was lugged towards some sort of collection point beyond the buildings.

His view across the inner quadrangle was angled differently from the one at the window next to the vending machine, from which he had observed the helicopters landing. When was that? Two nights ago, or three? He had genuinely lost all sense of time. From his room the helicopter pad was partly hidden beyond one of the other buildings – he could see a pylon which carried floodlights for night landings, and a small section of the raised concrete platform that was the pad itself, but most of it was out of sight. If there was a chopper on the pad at that moment he would not have been able to tell.

He had, though, a clear view of the building across the quad from the helipad, the one to which he had seen the people wheeled on trolleys. This was a modern construction, institutional in appearance, single-storey, brutally made of concrete, an immense semi-cylindrical building, apparently designed to withstand the storm winds. It was not fenced off or placed behind barriers, but armed guards were pacing slowly to and fro in front of the only entrance that could be seen from where Tarent was standing.

As far as he knew there had been no flights in or out of the Warne complex since the storm broke, so presumably those people were still inside the building. It looked like it could be a clinic, or perhaps a small emergency hospital, but there was nothing outside to indicate its purpose. Tarent realized it was pointless to speculate about it. All he knew was that he had seen people taken inside on stretcher trolleys.

He was returning to his normal frame of mind – there was nothing by which to measure the improvement, beyond an inner conviction that it was happening. His mind felt clear. He moved back from
the window, sat in the one large chair with which the room was furnished and for the first time in many hours thought about the woman he knew only as Flo.

She must have been one of the people he had seen removed from the helicopter to the clinic across the quadrangle. Hurt, injured – but how badly? He had seen that the people on the stretchers were quickly hooked up to oxygen supplies, which of course suggested that they were still alive. But he had witnessed the destructive attack on the Mebsher. He assumed from what he saw that everyone on board must have perished instantly. It was the same assumption he had made about Melanie.

TARENT HEARD A NOISE AT HIS DOOR – EXPECTING LOU, HE
made no move to open it as they had adjusted the palm-reader settings on their doors to recognize them both. When the knocking was repeated he went across and with a welcoming smile he released the lock.

There was a man standing there. In his surprise Tarent took a moment or two to recognize him. It was Bertrand Lepuits.

‘Mr Tarent,’ he said. ‘We have you registered in another room, but that is occupied by someone else. She directed me here. May I enter?’

‘I suppose so.’

He held the door wider. The other man glanced along the corridor in both directions, then stepped through the door. He waited until Tarent had closed it before he spoke again.

He said, ‘Mr Tarent, I need to be sure it is you.’

‘But you have come here. You know who I am, and you found me.’

‘Please – identify yourself. I am here on official business.’

Reluctantly, Tarent complied, pressing his ID card against the reader. A photograph appeared, the one taken by the OOR recording device before he left the country.

‘Good, thank you. A mere formality, I assure you. Mr Tarent, I have come to ask you if you would perform a favour for us.’

‘If you will perform one for me.’

‘What would that be?’

‘I’d like to know how I can get out of this place. You told me yourself I should not be here.’

‘Yes, indeed. We are expecting transport later today, or early
tomorrow. I could make it possible for you to be on that.’

‘Good! And my friend – the woman whose room you went to. Louise Paladin.’

‘You wish her to leave too?’

‘Yes. She is desperate to get home.’

‘I’ll see what I can make possible.’

‘No. If you want something from me, that’s what I want in return. No vague promises. Is that clear and understood, Monsieur Lepuits?’

‘I don’t think you are in a position to demand anything at all. You should not be at Warne’s Farm. This is a security-restricted site.’

‘You said you wanted a favour from me. I’ll be pleased to be out of here.’

‘Very well,’ said Lepuits. ‘You and the woman may leave at the next opportunity.’

‘Thank you. Would that be by helicopter?’

‘Ah, no – it would be a personnel carrier. Helicopters are not used to transport members of staff.’

‘A Mebsher, you mean? Would it take us to London?’

‘London – is not possible at the moment.’

‘That’s where we need to go.’

‘From here we can only take you to the DSG in Hull.’

‘But I live in London. Louise Paladin also.’

‘Mr Tarent – please! I have said you may leave here at the first possible opportunity, but first I need your help. I understand you are acquainted with Tebyeb Mallinan.’

Tarent shook his head. The man’s slight French accent made the words sound to him like a blur. ‘Would you say the name again, please?’

‘I apologize. It is Tebyeb, or Doctor, Mallinan.’ He spoke more slowly. ‘It was Tebyeb Mallinan who sent a message saying that you had changed your plans, and that we should not be expecting you here.’

Tarent said, ‘Is Doctor Mallinan a senior official in the Ministry of Defence?’

‘I believe she is. So you would know her?’

‘Yes – but if it’s who I think it is, that’s the first time I’ve heard her surname, not to mention the fact that she is a doctor.’

‘Let me tell you what we require of you, Mr Tarent. There has been an unfortunate accident in which several people were killed. We believe that Doctor Mallinan is among them, but before we can release her body we have to obtain a preliminary identification. She will be properly identified later, probably by a member of her family, but for
our internal purposes the Department needs to be certain that she is who we think she is. We are seeking an opinion about her identity.
Un avis.
Once we have that, we will be able to release her remains.’

‘So she was killed?’

‘Yes. I’m sorry to tell you she was.’

‘This was when the Mebsher was attacked?’

‘I don’t know the details. She and the others were brought in here by an army helicopter.’

‘I saw it arrive. But I also saw the staff treating the victims as if they were injured, still alive.’

‘No – I assure you, the people who were brought in were dead on arrival.’

‘All right.’

‘Good.’ Lepuits had moved back towards the door and now pulled it open. ‘There is some urgency to this.’ He indicated with his hand. ‘
Je vous prie, monsieur
.’

Tarent followed the man along the corridor and down the stairs. They walked quickly past Lou’s room, where the door was closed. Tarent was trying to adjust to the knowledge, the now certain knowledge, that Flo had been killed in the attack on the Mebsher. Because of the lack of certainty, he had been unconsciously clinging to the shred of hope that she and the others had somehow survived. But, well, now that hope seemed to be gone.

They left the residential block and walked out into the open air. There was still a stiff wind, but nothing like the gale that had caused all the damage. All the larger pieces of wreckage had been cleared. In one corner of the quadrangle the tractors were still working, pushing everything away to an area beyond the buildings on that side.

When they reached the entrance to the building with the curved concrete facade, Lepuits showed an identity card to the two guards, then activated the door with another card, this one with an electronic stripe. He let Tarent walk past him and enter first. When the door closed against the outside, all was silent. No sound of the wind could be heard. The muffled acoustics of the place created a sense that all sounds had been muted. Lepuits switched on the overhead lights.

They were in what appeared to be an open-plan office, with several work-stations in orderly rows on the side nearest to them. Curtained cubicles were set against the far wall – these were open, ready for use, examination beds bare, metal bottles of oxygen and medical cabinets beside each one.

Lepuits said, ‘You understand, this facility is maintained only for
occasional or emergency use. We have a consultant A&E nurse on site, but no doctors. Since the recent crisis began we are treating it as a holding site, and anyone in need of anything more than first aid is transferred as soon as possible to a hospital in Nottingham or Lincoln.’ He led Tarent away from this area, through a door, into a partitioned section. ‘We don’t have a mortuary, but there is a refrigerated room, so the bodies are being stored in there for the time being. It’s extremely cold inside, but I don’t suppose it will take long. Neither of us is dressed for this, so please let us be quick.’

There was a large insulated door which Lepuits pulled open, and led the way inside. The air inside was indeed freezing cold.

Most of the space was occupied either by cases of food, or by sealed drums of uncertain contents. Tarent took them in with barely a glance. The cold air was rasping in his windpipe. He had never known such cold in his life. A row of bodies lay side by side on the surface of a bench built against the side wall. Each was shrouded by a white sheet. The drums, boxes and other containers that had been stacked there before were now standing on the floor below.

Lepuits went to the figure in the centre. He leaned forward, having to balance himself because the boxes on the floor made close access difficult, and peeled down the sheet to reveal the face.

‘This is the woman we have reason to believe might be Tebyeb or Doctor Mallinan,’ he said.

Lepuits stepped back, and Tarent moved forward to take his place. He leaned over to see. He was already in shock, because of the news, the realization of finality as well as the awe-inspiring cold in the room, but there was Flo. She, the body, was lying with her eyes closed, but there were no injuries, no burns or scars or cuts to the face, no blast flares, no bruising, no disfigurement at all. He suddenly remembered what she had said in a completely different context, that she was beyond damage, that he would see what she meant. Now he was seeing, and it was as she had said. Whatever had happened to her when she died it had not marked her. Or it had not marked her face. Lepuits did not lift the sheet high enough for Tarent to see any more than her head and shoulders.

He did not feel repelled by her frozen appearance, nor by the fact of her death, nor even by a feeling of loss, because he had realized for some time that what had happened between them was a passing incident. But a sense of tragedy arose in him, the awareness of a life wasted, an intelligent and interesting woman, suddenly killed, pointlessly annihilated.