Ray Sullivan publishes science based fiction adventures on Amazon, Smashwords, Apple iBookstore, Barnes & Noble, Sony, WH Smith and other good eBook retailers as e-books. Additionally all of his books are available in paperback on Amazon. He also muses on technology, posts comedic books in serial format and discusses the world of self publishing.
Books written by Ray Sullivan
Wednesday, 9 January 2013
Parallel Lives chapter 43
Martin was having a singularly bad day. He had spent the
weekend trying to acquire resources to assist him with his task, with little
luck. Being an Intelligence Liaison Officer attached to the DTRU usually had
its benefits, such as the high degree of autonomy he generally enjoyed.
Mainstream intelligence work with the SIS generally meant seeking approval in
triplicate for the most basic of tasks, such as for a surveillance operation.
As the local liaison there was virtually no need to gain any such approval for
such activities, and the DTRU staff were pretty much oblivious to the
requirements that should be imposed. Most assumed that intelligence officers
were above most legal obligations and avoided asking too many questions in case
they too came under scrutiny.
The downside, as Martin was now finding, was that
organisations such as the DTRU were largely absent of basic security resources
such as trained personnel, vehicles and close protection weapons. Their purpose
in life was secret research and as such they were extremely well provided for
with facilities and key personnel, but outside of the main laboratories they
had little in the way of a security infrastructure. Martin had begged and
scraped to obtain the vehicle used to bring Sam to Fylingdales and the muscle
provided were only available for a very short window in time. It probably
impressed the hell out of Sam, who couldn’t have known that if he had argued harder
and arranged for the pick up time to be slipped by more that three hours it
would have been a self drive again.
Martin had, however, managed to massage the vanity of the
RAF Officer the day before. That much had been fairly easy, far easier than
Martin had prepared for. The hardest part was dissuading the Officer from
taking part, he clearly saw himself in the role of James Bond. Martin didn’t.
He also didn’t want to use the RAF Sergeant either, although if he had to use
someone off the base he could do worse, much worse. He had bet on his
departmental heads throwing their collective teddies out of their cots at the
thought of the SIS using an airforce technician in a close protection role he
hadn’t been trained to do. The idea was that they would capitulate and detail a
professional to assist him, rather than risk the embarrassment likely to occur
with his proposal, however Martin had underestimated the degree of over-stretch
back at HQ and his boss had jumped at the opportunity to save manpower. It looked
like Martin had some rapid training to undertake.
The news about the inquest had been a blow, of course, and
the rapidity of its calling was a bit of a surprise. Martin’s own enquiries had
revealed that the cause of the accident hadn’t been in dispute after the HSE
had concluded its initial investigation, and there had been some conflict with
the Coroner’s diary that meant that the inquest either happened now or not for
six weeks. The later date wouldn’t have been an issue with the Coroner, it
wasn’t unusual where there was any suspicion of foul play, but some influence
had been exerted from the family of the dead man. Although he was a maintenance
man he had married into a family with some clout, and they wanted the whole
affair put to bed, especially as there wasn’t any hint of a problem. He
couldn’t understand why Staples had been called but the initial resistance felt
when he had inquired about non attendance persuaded him to back off.
Unfortunately, as far as Martin’s superiors were concerned,
the DTRU project was a back-burner item that probably never would produce any
tangible results. From Martin’s perspective, he was loathe to reveal any
details about the apparent success at this time, even to his own people, such
was the degree of paranoia embedded in him. Consequently he had to take
Staples, his own car and some untrained assistant. And two increasingly
unpredictable scientists. A singularly bad day indeed.