not going home. I want to pay a visit to the facility.’
‘..........’
‘Yes, I know you did. I just want to check things myself.’
‘..........’
‘I’m sure they are, but I want to go nevertheless. Ten minutes, right?’
Somewhat irritated, he disconnected the call, then flung the phone down on the desk. Sebastian Fleming was not used to being questioned.
At six forty, the sleek black BMW pulled up outside the building. Smartly dressed in his driver’s uniform, John got out and opened Fleming’s door. Without saying anything, or even looking at John, Fleming stepped into the car. John slammed the door shut and returned to his seat.
The BMW purred away and headed for the A1206. After five short minutes they were in gridlock, at the point where their road is joined by the traffic leaving the northbound Blackwall Tunnel. Fleming looked out at the traffic, shook his head and clucked irritably.
By seven they had reached the junction where the A13 East India Dock Road joins the A12 Tunnel Approach and headed north on the latter road. Traffic was slow as they progressed through Hackney, Leytonstone and they were unable to exceed twenty-five until well past Chadwell Heath. Fleming checked his watch and clucked again: seven forty-five already.
Once they had got past the M25 the road got much clearer, and John accelerated to ninety. Fleming looked up from the papers he was studying.
‘Don’t go too fast, John. We don’t want to get stopped for speeding, do we?’
‘Right you are, Mr Fleming,’ said John as he dropped down to eighty and glimpsed Fleming in his rear view mirror. ‘Just want to make up some of that lost time, that’s all.’
Fleming grunted and returned to his paperwork.
At just after nine, John turned off the A12 and onto an unlit country road. He drove for five or six miles along a narrow, twisting route, only passing two or three vehicles travelling in the opposite direction. Soon he saw up ahead the sign he was looking for.
‘Here we are, Mr Fleming,’ he said, cheerfully.
Fleming looked up and grunted.
‘Miserable old bastard,’ John muttered through clenched teeth as he turned right off the road and pulled up at the wrought iron gate. He wound down his window and keyed in a four digit code on the keypad by the side of the driveway. The little red light on the keypad turned green and with a click and a whirr the gates slid open. John wound the window up and proceeded up the short driveway, turned left at a junction and pulled up outside a flat roofed, two storey building, the architecture of which John had put in the fifties.
John got out, pulled his jacket tighter against the cold and opened Fleming’s door. Fleming got out and walked up to the facility door. Then he turned to a keypad on the right of the door and keyed in another four digit code. With a click, the steel door unlocked. Fleming pushed it open and he and John stepped in.
The steel door opened into a long, corridor. It was pitch dark inside, but the lighting system was motion sensitive, so as Fleming and John walked along the corridor, bright fluorescent lights flickered and switched on, illuminating the corridor so that it resembled a hospital thoroughfare.
At the end of the corridor, they came to a large room, a kind of meeting room. The end wall of the room was filled with drawers, resembling a bank safety deposit box vault, only the drawers were much larger, around two feet square.
Fleming looked around the room, then back at the end wall.
‘Let’s just have a look at one of them,’ he said.
Thank God for that , thought John. Otherwise we’d be here all bloody night.
Fleming pulled one of the drawers open, and pulled out a large, square, grey metal case. The case resembled a toolbox. He put the box on the table in the middle of the room and opened it. Examined the contents, and gave a satisfied nod.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Very good.’
Fleming shut the box, replaced it in the
‘..........’
‘Yes, I know you did. I just want to check things myself.’
‘..........’
‘I’m sure they are, but I want to go nevertheless. Ten minutes, right?’
Somewhat irritated, he disconnected the call, then flung the phone down on the desk. Sebastian Fleming was not used to being questioned.
At six forty, the sleek black BMW pulled up outside the building. Smartly dressed in his driver’s uniform, John got out and opened Fleming’s door. Without saying anything, or even looking at John, Fleming stepped into the car. John slammed the door shut and returned to his seat.
The BMW purred away and headed for the A1206. After five short minutes they were in gridlock, at the point where their road is joined by the traffic leaving the northbound Blackwall Tunnel. Fleming looked out at the traffic, shook his head and clucked irritably.
By seven they had reached the junction where the A13 East India Dock Road joins the A12 Tunnel Approach and headed north on the latter road. Traffic was slow as they progressed through Hackney, Leytonstone and they were unable to exceed twenty-five until well past Chadwell Heath. Fleming checked his watch and clucked again: seven forty-five already.
Once they had got past the M25 the road got much clearer, and John accelerated to ninety. Fleming looked up from the papers he was studying.
‘Don’t go too fast, John. We don’t want to get stopped for speeding, do we?’
‘Right you are, Mr Fleming,’ said John as he dropped down to eighty and glimpsed Fleming in his rear view mirror. ‘Just want to make up some of that lost time, that’s all.’
Fleming grunted and returned to his paperwork.
At just after nine, John turned off the A12 and onto an unlit country road. He drove for five or six miles along a narrow, twisting route, only passing two or three vehicles travelling in the opposite direction. Soon he saw up ahead the sign he was looking for.
‘Here we are, Mr Fleming,’ he said, cheerfully.
Fleming looked up and grunted.
‘Miserable old bastard,’ John muttered through clenched teeth as he turned right off the road and pulled up at the wrought iron gate. He wound down his window and keyed in a four digit code on the keypad by the side of the driveway. The little red light on the keypad turned green and with a click and a whirr the gates slid open. John wound the window up and proceeded up the short driveway, turned left at a junction and pulled up outside a flat roofed, two storey building, the architecture of which John had put in the fifties.
John got out, pulled his jacket tighter against the cold and opened Fleming’s door. Fleming got out and walked up to the facility door. Then he turned to a keypad on the right of the door and keyed in another four digit code. With a click, the steel door unlocked. Fleming pushed it open and he and John stepped in.
The steel door opened into a long, corridor. It was pitch dark inside, but the lighting system was motion sensitive, so as Fleming and John walked along the corridor, bright fluorescent lights flickered and switched on, illuminating the corridor so that it resembled a hospital thoroughfare.
At the end of the corridor, they came to a large room, a kind of meeting room. The end wall of the room was filled with drawers, resembling a bank safety deposit box vault, only the drawers were much larger, around two feet square.
Fleming looked around the room, then back at the end wall.
‘Let’s just have a look at one of them,’ he said.
Thank God for that , thought John. Otherwise we’d be here all bloody night.
Fleming pulled one of the drawers open, and pulled out a large, square, grey metal case. The case resembled a toolbox. He put the box on the table in the middle of the room and opened it. Examined the contents, and gave a satisfied nod.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Very good.’
Fleming shut the box, replaced it in the
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