J.G. Ballard - The Wind From Nowhere

Marshall nodded, then glanced at his watch. He looked around the room for a moment, taking in each of his three companions, nodded to them and began to move for – the door where banks of teletypes stood against the wall.

"Not much coming through," he said to Symington. "Looks as if we ought to start pulling out. Might take anything up to a couple of days to reach the U.S. base at Brandon Hall. No point in trying to be heroes. Get in touch with them and see if traffic there can pick us up today. I'll look in again in half an hour."

He made his way quickly along the darkened corridor to the small stairway at the end of the floor, then hurried up it to the level above. His office was halfway down, backing onto the elevator shaft and emergency exit.

Unlocking the door, 'he let himself in. Deborah Mason, a heavy trench coat belted around her trim waist, was sitting on the sofa next to her suitcase. She stood up as he came in, put her arms on Marshall 's shoulders.

"Are you ready now, Simon?" she asked anxiously. "I can't wait to get out of here."

Marshall held her close to him and smiled into her smooth face, touching her lips lightly with his own. "Don't worry, darling. All set now.

The small room was stacked with gear. A carton of gas masks and an R/T set cluttered the desk, crates and suitcases stood against the walls. First testing the door to make certain it was locked, Marshall sat down at his desk and dialed the transport shelter above.

"Kroll?" he asked in a low voice. " Marshall here. Get ready to pull out in about ten minutes." He paused, looking away from Deborah and dropping his voice. "Meanwhile, can you come down to my office? Take the rear stairway by the elevator shaft. I'll need your help with something."

Slipping the phone back into its cradle, Marshall glanced up at Deborah, who was watching him suspiciously, her mouth fretting slightly.

"Simon, why do you want Kroll to come down here?"

Marshall began to shrug, but Deborah cut in: "Symington and the other two are coming with us, aren't they? You're not going to leave them behind?"

"Symington? Of course not, darling. He's invaluable to us. But we'll need Kroll to help persuade him to come along."

He stood up and walked over to one of the suitcases, but Deborah stopped him.

"What about Crighton and the girl?" she pressed. "You're not going to leave them, or try anything-"

Marshall hesitated, looking Deborah in the face, his eyes motionless.

"Simon!" Deborah seized his arms. "They've worked for you for months; both of them trust you completely. You can't just throw their lives away. Hardoon can use them somewhere."

Marshall clenched his teeth, pushed Deborah away. "For heaven's sake, Deborah, don't start sentimentalizing. I hate to do it, but these are tough times. People are dying out there by the million. Are you willing to swap places with one of them?"

"No, I'm not," Deborah said firmly, "but that's not the point, is it? You've got a place for them."

"In the Titan, yes. But at the Tower-I can't be sure. Hardoon is unpredictable; I've no real authority with him. I'd leave them here, but they'll put out an alert within five minutes and we'd be picked up before we'd gone ten miles." He looked down at Deborah, her mouth clenched determinedly, then burst out in a growl of irritation:

"All right then, I'll take a chance. It's a hell of a risk, though."

He picked up the suitcase, carried it over to the sofa. The case was of medium size, with heavy metal ribs that appeared to have been mounted at a date later than its original manufacture.

Taking a keychain from his pocket, Marshall opened the two locks and carefully raised the lid. Inside was a small vhf radio transceiver, equipped with a powerful scrambler.

Marshall switched on the scrambler, then reached down to the floor behind the sofa and picked up a long piece of loose wire. The end had been fitted with a plug and he clipped this into the aerial socket of the transceiver. Following the wire behind the sofa to the corner, he traced it along the skirting board behind his desk to the emergency door, where it disappeared through a small aperture.

Satisfied, he returned to the set, unwound a power lead and plugged it into his desk light. As he switched on he listened to the set hum into life, then quietly adjusted the tuning dial until the red fixed-beam answering bulb lit up. Then he pulled on the headphones and picked up the miniature microphone.

" Hardoon Tower, this is Black Admiral calling Hardoon Tower," he began to repeat rapidly. Deborah came and stood at his shoulder, and he put his free arm around her.

As the answering call came through, the narrow door behind Marshall 's desk opened slowly. A tall, heavily built man in black plastic storm suit and fiberglass helmet stepped softly into the r6om. His face was hidden by the deep visor of the helmet and the broad metal chinstrap, but between them were a tight scarred mouth, a sharp nose and cheekbones, hard eyes. The man's hands were gloveless, rubber seals at the sleeves of the suit clasping his thick wrists. In the center of his helmet was a single large white triangle, like a pyramid in profile.

Marshall waved him into the room, gesturing him to lock the door behind him, then crouched over the set.

"… tell R.H. we're leaving in about five minutes, estimated time of arrival at the Tower-" he glanced at his watch "-0400 hours. Everything here is closing down, all government agencies pulled out yesterday. The Titan will carry U.S. Navy insignia-it's too dangerous to move around now without any markings and the only other big tractors are American, so no one will try to stop us. What's that?"

Marshall paused, watching the tall figure of Kroll standing beside him as the question was repeated. "I'll be bringing them along. They're top communications people; they'll be useful to us. What? There are only three of them. Don't worry, I'll see R.H. personally about it." Marshall 's face began to knot, his deep jaw lengthening as he listened impatiently to the voice in his earphones. He started to say: "Listen, I don't care what orders R.H. made-" then abruptly uncupped his headphones and switched the set off.

"Bloody fool!" he snapped. "Who does that operator think he is?" His face clouded with anger, then slowly relaxed. He pulled out the aerial, then folded away the earphones and hand microphone and closed the case.

"Have to watch R.H.," he said reflectively to Kroll. "He's a tough nut, all right. Just because Communications are taking second place to Construction now the boys at the Tower are starting to get cocky."

Kroll nodded, almost imperceptibly, as if well used to a maximum conversational economy. "There's been a lot of reorganization," he said tersely. "Big changes, cutting down. Construction's taking a back seat now. Security is head department."

Marshall said nothing, pensively considering this. "Who's in charge?" he asked.

Kroll shook his head. His hard face flickered bonily; something reminiscent of a chuckle rasped out. "R.H., the boss himself." He was eying Deborah up and down with interest, and she backed away from him slightly. Kroll broke off and glanced around the office. "Let's get a move on, eh?" he added curtly.

Marshall carried the suitcase over to the desk, noting the change in Kroll's manner. "Good idea," he agreed. "Thanks for all the news. By the way, what department are you in now? Security? I take it you've been promoted."

Kroll nodded, watching Marshall without a hint of deference. He moved toward the outer door, jerked a thumb in the direction of the corridor. "Where do the others hang out? Down on the bottom level?"

"Hold on." Marshall turned to Deborah, took her by the arm and steered her toward the emergency door. "Darling, there's bound to be a little rough stuff here. You go ahead upstairs. Everything will have quieted down by the time we reach you."