Operation Norway

- 15 -

“So what’s with the wee crabbit guy?” Wiggins asked. Banks was in the back of the first of three SUVs with Wiggins alongside him and Captain Olsen and his driver up front. Hynd and Davies were in the vehicle just behind them.

“What is crabbit?” Olsen asked. “That is not a word I have come across before.”

“It’s Scottish,” Wiggins said, “and it means many things in different circumstances but it looks like all of them fit yon doctor.”

Banks laughed and addressed Olsen.

“How about dour, unsmiling, bad-tempered, an itchy pole up his arse… any of them ring a bell?”

Olsen laughed.

“All of them and all when applied to our doctor. I am afraid he is not a very good advertisement for our city but he is regarded as the expert in this particular field, having studied under Professor Jensen in his youth.”

“Jensen from the original experiment?”

“Yes, the very same. He lived here in the city and died an old man sometime in the 1980s.”

“I thought no one got out of the base alive,” Banks said.

“I do not know the story,” Olsen replied.

But Larsen might, Banks thought. There were holes in the story as told in the journal he’d read. Perhaps Larsen would be able to fill in the blanks.

The first sight of the university surprised him, for after seeing the city center on the way through, he’d been expecting an imposing old World European-style edifice. Instead, they drove around the outside of a tall, modern structure. Yes, there was plenty of polished wood in evidence in its construction, but the main thing on show was a high, wide, and handsome expanse of glass frontage, glowing red in the very last of the sun. They followed the flatbed down into a cavernous underground garage and while the bed of the truck was being unhitched from the front cab, Olsen showed them to a long, plush trailer.

“Are we going camping?” Wiggins said.

“This will be your home for the duration,” Olsen replied. “It is fully stocked, has hot water and power, no TV reception down here I’m afraid, but there is a DVD player and some movies. There is beer and vodka in the fridge and frozen pizza for the microwave.”

“Everything a growing lad needs,” Wiggins replied, looking ‘round. “Could do with a better view though. And maybe some dancing girls.”

The squad got their kit stowed inside the trailer; Banks had just enough time to note that it was far more luxurious than they would have been able to offer in Lossiemouth had roles been reversed.

“Wiggo, you and the sarge get settled in. Davies and I will go with the big hard man to make sure he’s looked after. Just don’t snaffle all the booze and pizza before we get back.”

With Davies at his side, they followed Olsen back out into the main garage then walked behind the flatbed as it was towed away by two forklift trucks.

The convoy of forklifts, flatbed, and men walked the length of the garage to the far-east end, into a descending tunnel that was obviously of older vintage. Olsen saw Banks looking around.

“This was a nuclear bunker in the bad old days,” he said. “Professor Jensen saw a use for it while the new university was going up and was instrumental in it being reconfigured and incorporated into the building works.”

They passed through a thick, circular iron vault door that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a bullion depository.

“What do you keep down here that needs so much security?” Davies asked but didn’t get an answer, although they didn’t have to wait too long to find out. The slope evened out as they entered a wide, circular underground chamber almost a hundred yards in diameter. The central area consisted of a wide circle of computer servers, gas chromatograms, and numerous long tables festooned with laboratory equipment. The forklift trucks unhooked the flatbed directly in the center of the facility. All around the outside walls were more of the large steel doors like the one they’d entered through.

“What do you keep down here?” Davies asked again. Captain Olsen waved a hand towards one of the doors.

“Have a look.”

Banks and Davies both walked over and peered through an eye-level window. The glass was almost opaque due to its thickness and at first, they thought there was nothing inside but an empty cell with roughhewn walls. Then Banks’ perspective shifted and he saw what he thought might be the outline of a moss-covered arm. Once he’d seen that, the rest clicked into place like one of those fancy holographic images you had to stare at the right way to see. It helped that he’d seen the same thing before, in the high cave above the fjord; one of the rock-encrusted figures was bound — perhaps asleep — embedded in the stony walls inside.

He turned away and counted the doorways — there were twenty-four of them equally spaced around the central area.

“Jensen’s experiment wasn’t confined to the base in the fjord, was it?” Banks asked and Olsen smiled grimly.

“Not after you Brits decided to give up on it. The professor was not ready to quit. He brought his samples here and, with the aid of volunteers from the local prison population, he continued his work. What we have here is the result. But they have all been asleep and immovable for more than fifty years now.”

Larsen, the doctor, arrived as Olsen was speaking.

“And as the heir to the great professor’s legacy, I am, of course, very excited to get to work on discovering why this new specimen is up and moving about.”

Banks decided not to mention the fact that they’d dropped a cave on the ‘specimen’… he didn’t want to give Larsen any daft ideas.

Davies went over to the flatbed to check on the prone figure still lying there in chains.

“He’s out for the count, Cap,” the private said on his return. “None the worse for the trip but he’ll be out for a good few hours now that he’s out of the sun.”

Banks was still looking around the chamber at the heavy, sealed doors and the armed guards stationed at every fourth door around the perimeter.

“How many have you got in the rock?” he asked, addressing Olsen.

“Thirty-two — some are doubled up and—”

Larsen broke in.

“And that is all the information you need. You are merely observers here, not inspectors. I will want to start experimentation as soon as the sedative wears off — probably in the morning. I want you gone by then. You have no authority over me.”

“You’re right there,” Banks said, keeping his voice low and calm. “What I do have is authority over the wellbeing of a British soldier. I’ve told you already — if he comes to any harm whatsoever, then you will answer to me. And I will be here to ensure it one way or the other. Your job here is to try to reverse the process, am I right?”

“That is what my superiors have requested but…”

“No buts. You do your job, I’ll do mine, and we’ll all get along just fine.”

Larsen was clearly a man to turn to bluster when intimidation didn’t work but Banks wasn’t about to listen to any of it. He turned back to Olsen.

“I’d like to be here when any of this man’s experiments are done on McCallum. Is it within your remit to grant me and my men access?”

Olsen smiled.

“Indeed it is, Captain. And you have my permission. Indeed, you may feel free to visit the laboratory at any time — we have nothing to hide from friends.”

Larsen looked like he was going to bust several blood vessels, more so when Banks laughed in his face.

“I’ll be in my trailer when you’re ready to begin, doctor,” he said. “Don’t start without me, if you know what’s good for you.”