Ian Rankin - Westwind

‘Mr Hepton sir. I thought you’d gone off on holiday.’

‘I was called back. Something about the place shutting down for a while. I’ve got to collect my things.’

‘Ah, yes, shutting down. As from tomorrow, so they tell me. Mind you, I’ll still be here. You always need security.’ Hepton nodded agreement. Bert was giving the car’s paintwork a cursory examination. ‘I see you’ve been buying yourself a new car, Mr Hepton.’

‘No, it’s on loan. I had a little mishap with the Renault.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Bert was walking around to the back of the car. Hepton watched him in the wing mirror.

‘Anything the matter?’ he called.

‘Should there be, Mr Hepton?’

‘No,’ he said, laughing. Just don’t look in the boot .

‘Yes, sir, a very nice car this. Hired, did you say?’

‘No, it’s a friend’s.’

‘I suppose I should log it in,’ Bert said. He had finished his tour and was returning to the driver’s-side window. ‘All cars are supposed to be logged, aren’t they?’

Hepton shrugged. ‘I suppose so,’ he said casually.

‘Then again,’ Bert reasoned, ‘if you’re only coming in to pick up some stuff...’

‘That’s all.’

‘And you’ve just borrowed this car... well, I suppose it hardly matters, does it?’

‘Whatever you think, Bert. So long as it won’t get you into trouble.’

‘Well then, I’ll just go and raise the barrier.’

‘Thanks, Bert.’ Hepton thought of something. ‘Oh, Bert?’

‘Yes, Mr Hepton?’

‘That security man, the one who just clocked off. He’s new, isn’t he?’

‘Started yesterday. His name’s Ken. Quiet bloke, keeps himself to himself. But he seems to like the job.’

‘Right.’ Hepton seemed satisfied with this, so Bert walked away from the car and towards his office, where a moment later he pushed the button that raised the barrier, allowing Hepton into the compound. Hepton gave a wave as he drove in, making for the other side of the administration building. There were plenty of parking spaces in front of the block, but he wanted to be far away from prying eyes. Thankfully, a few cars had parked at the rear, in a sort of courtyard enclosed by a picket fence, a hedge and an emergency generator, itself surrounded by high iron railings. Hepton did not drive to the furthest corner: there were no other vehicles there to provide cover. Instead, he made for the busiest point, where two cars had parked a bay apart, with another car a little distance in front of them. He manoeuvred the Cavalier into the narrow space between the two cars and turned off the engine. Yes, the new security man on the gate liked his job... They were moving their own men into the base. Slowly but surely, COFFIN was taking over.

He opened the driver’s-side door as far as it would go without denting the car next to him and squeezed out, then closed the door again but did not lock it. He wasn’t planning on staying long, and their leave-taking might have to be rapid. Unlocking a door took time, time they might not have.

He looked around. The place was quiet. There was a security camera trained on the back of the admin block and on the path that led towards the control building, but no camera, he knew for a fact, covered this rear car park. He unlocked the boot.

Dreyfuss blinked into the light and quickly, silently, pulled himself out of his foetal position. While Hepton relocked the boot, Dreyfuss did some limbering exercises. The boot had been a tight squeeze, and he was thankful he’d only needed to be in it for the last mile of the drive. He shook his arms loose of any stiffness and straightened his clothes.

‘I thought your pal at the gate was going to ask to see inside,’ he said.

‘To be honest,’ answered Hepton, ‘so did I. But I already had a story ready about the boot being jammed shut.’

‘Very likely,’ Dreyfuss said. He was taking deep breaths.

‘Okay,’ Hepton said. He pointed towards the meandering line of paving slabs, cracked and showing tufts of wild grass. ‘That’s the path we take. There’s a camera trained on it beginning and end, so look relaxed. Pretend I’ve just arrived on base and bumped into you.’

‘Fine,’ Dreyfuss replied.

They set off, Dreyfuss with his hands in his pockets and seeming to listen intently to what Hepton was saying, not that Hepton was saying very much other than reminding him of the layout of the tracking station’s interior. At the end of the path stood a hefty-looking steel door, and on the wall next to it a numerical keypad, topped by yet another video camera. Hepton tried to look nonchalant as he pressed home the combination 52339, then waited. There was a ca-chunk as the several locks on the door disengaged. He gave it a push, and they entered a sort of antechamber. Against one wall stood what looked like a clocking-in system, but instead of identifier cards, Dreyfuss saw that each slot held a plastic-coated name badge, and beside each name a photograph. Hepton reached for his own badge and tagged it to his trouser pocket. Dreyfuss took the first badge he saw and did likewise. He had been informed: Some guys clip them to their shirts, others to their trousers. If we tag them to our trouser pockets, there ’ s less chance of someone noticing that you ’ re not the face on the ID .

He had also been warned about the wall opposite this one, which was made of glass. Behind it, in a small room filled with video screens, sat another security guard. Hepton waved to the guard, who smiled and waved back, then pushed on through the interior door, Dreyfuss following mutely. Now they were in a long corridor, and walking briskly. Dreyfuss felt a kind of complete terror overtake him. They were getting deeper and deeper into this, almost too deep to facilitate any hope of escape. Hepton misread his companion’s fear.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I reckon that with the shutdown, and the change of staff, nobody’s going to think a new face suspicious. In fact, we couldn’t have picked a better day, all things considered. The only thing that bothers me is that there are so many new faces, all of them probably connected to COFFIN. That guard back there, for instance. I’ve never seen him before in my life.’

Dreyfuss nodded his head. ‘So what if he checks up on us?’ He was trying to walk at the same pace as Hepton, but it was difficult not to fall a step or two behind and let him take the lead. After all, Dreyfuss had little idea where they were going. But he had to look as though he knew. He stared at the floor, matching his footsteps with those of his guide, and so concentrating grew less frightened and less nervous.

After a moment, he realised that Hepton hadn’t answered his question. The silence was answer enough in itself. Any check, and they’d be doomed. Suddenly a voice sounded behind them, and both men froze.

‘Hey! Martin! Hold on!’ They turned slowly towards the voice. A man was approaching them, grinning. ‘Martin, what are you doing back?’

‘Hello, Nick.’ This was what they hadn’t wanted, but could hardly hope to avoid: close contact with someone who knew Hepton well.

‘Did you get the tapes?’ Nick Christopher asked.

‘Yes, thanks,’ answered Hepton.

Dreyfuss’ good hand rested momentarily on Hepton’s arm. ‘I’ll see you later,’ he said, smiling towards Nick Christopher before moving off down the corridor. Christopher stared after him.

‘Who was that?’

‘Some new guy,’ said Hepton.

‘I get the feeling I’ve seen him somewhere before.’

‘Oh?’ Hepton was staring at Dreyfuss’ back too, wondering where he was headed. Their plan, hatched on the way here, now seemed woefully inadequate and as full of holes as a disassembled circuit board. But then even on the way here it had seemed so. He turned to Christopher. ‘Going to the control room?’