Project - 16 (19 page)

“
A what?”

“
Don't tell me you've not heard of Sudoku?”

“
I thought that was Japanese suicide?”

“
Wait here.” She took the notebook and ran upstairs, coming
back down with her tablet which she put in front of me, tapping
away at the icons on the screen. She pulled up a chair right next
to me. She was close enough that the few strands of her hair that'd
escaped the tie-back brushed against my cheek and I felt my stomach
knot. She smelled of pine and soil and soap and the combination set
my heart racing.

“
Is this supposed to clear my mind or make it worse?” I asked
in a hoarse voice.

“
Look, I'll show you...”

We spent the next hour or so going through how the puzzle
worked before I could manage on my own. She was half right - it
took my mind off Dad's cryptic notebook but left me more confused
than ever.

“
Is this meant to be fun?” I said.

“
It helps exercise the fucking mind, man. No good being a
physical Goddess without the brains to back it up, my
friend.”

“
I see,” I said. “The power is going.”

“
Yeah, maybe we could light that stove of yours and generate a
bit of wattage, eh? I'll get changed and meet you at the
door.”

I checked on Piotr who'd fallen asleep on his bed; his gear
had been neatly unpacked onto the table. Then I met Riley at the
bottom of the stairs and together we went out to the student huts.
By now the rain had stopped all together and dusk was settling on
the house. The air was turning chilly and I expected a cold night
with a beautiful morning to follow.

“
You've known the Russian for a while?” she asked.

“
Yeah, he knew my Dad for as long as I can remember. Look, I
know you have your issues, but not all Russians are your enemy. In
fact, I'm not sure any Russian is your enemy. You left the Rangers,
remember?”

“
Does the leopard change his fucking spots?” she
said.

“
Russia doesn't have the monopoly on dishonourable behaviour,
does it? I seem to remember a few American 'incidents' that made it
into the history books.”

“
Yeah, I know, but don't you think it's a bit fucking odd that
he shows up now? And are you buying this bullshit cover story too?
It stinks, man.”

“
I'm happy with it. For now,” I replied, feeling a little
defensive of the old Russian. “If that changes I'm sure you'll be
the first to know.”

“
I hope I won't be the last.”

We reached the huts and I showed her how the power-generator
worked when the fire was lit. Once we had a good flame going she
began collecting wood from my stores and piling it up next to the
opening.

“
I'll stay out here tonight,” she said. “I'll keep it going
and get everything charged. I want to get back out there as soon as
possible. No point sitting idle.”

“
I agree, Riley. Best to keep busy. Stops dangerous
thoughts.”

“
Very funny,” she replied, deadpan. “Sudoku in the
morning?”

“
We'll see.”

7.

I stayed up most of the night with a book and a bottle of
wine by the library fire and occasionally stuck my head out of the
window to check on Riley who was in one of the huts with a lamp on.
Maybe she was in there enjoying the novelty of electricity, I
thought, as I watched the sun rise into an azure sky. Winter in
England had a mystical quality to it, a kind of energy that despite
the cold brought a beauty to life hard to match anywhere else. It
made living far more vibrant and pleasurable.

I took a pot of coffee, a stack of toast and a plate of hot
bacon out to the huts on a tray while Piotr had only just risen.
Riley met me at the stove where the picnic benches were, her thick
jumper and hat on with a pair of sunglasses for the
glare.

“
Good morning,” I said, setting breakfast down on the table.
She straddled the bench and rubbed her hands together.

“
Howdy,” she said, pouring herself a cup of steaming black
coffee. “All charged and ready to go. That thing is fucking
awesome.”

“
Any word from home?” I said.

“
Nothing. All signals are down. I spotted one satellite still
active and I’ve locked it in on the off chance someone tries to
contact us.”

“
How do you feel about that?” I asked.

“
No knife and fork?” she asked, looking around the tray as if
they might appear by themselves. When they didn't, she folded the
toast over to make a pathetic looking sandwich. She looked at the
stack of bacon between my two slices of bread and shook her head.
“Brits.”

“
We invented this kind of thing,” I said.

“
I'm sure you didn't.”

“
That's rich coming from a rebel nation. Give us our colonies
back.”

“
Fuck you,” she said, laughing. “Nice bacon though - not like
the stuff at home.”

It struck me that Riley had a knack for avoiding answers to
tough questions. I put it down to a lifetime competing with the
guys in a Ranger unit who would care less than nothing about how
she felt. I'd seen them during training, I'd seen the lack of open
emotion - even for Americans, as if it was frowned upon. Dad told
me that there'd been a time when they'd had help for trauma, for
dealing with grief, but for some reason that had long gone now.
Riley seemed to be the product of that.

“
Is my crazy Russian friend up?” she asked.

“
He was the last time I saw him. I left him to his tea.
Mornings need coffee in my opinion.”

“
Ain't that the fucking truth?”

She ate like it was her last meal and reached across the
table for more, filling her coffee cup for a third time. I nursed
my first and started my second sandwich before Piotr emerged from
the front door and brought his cup over to us.

“
Good morning,” he said. “Boy did I sleep!”

“
How are you feeling?” I asked.

“
A lot better, thank you. It was good to sleep in a bed for a
change. Do we have a plan? Are we to travel to the next
bunker?”

Riley wiped her hands on her thighs and started gesturing
whilst she finished chewing her food. Then she rooted around in her
pack and brought up Dad's notebook, laying out my crude sketch
alongside it.

“
I think I worked it out,” she said, flattening out the
creases and spreading grease across the paper. “I think your Dad
was looking for something in these bunkers, something he didn't
want to write down in obvious words in case they were
found.”

“
What makes you think that?” I asked.

“
I went from cover to cover, trying to make sense of a pattern
I knew was there but, like you, I couldn't nail down. Then it
fucking hit me...” She flipped through the pages until she was near
enough in the middle. “Here, look at that and tell me what you
see.”

It was a sketch, a very basic sketch but one that had a lot
of detail - more detail than any of the others. It was a set of
double steel doors, four metres high according to Dad's dimensions,
eight metres wide and they were marked with many warnings and
numbers that were unknown to me. Down each side of the sketch were
notes on codes, door combinations and wiring diagrams - none of
which made sense.

“
Doors. I'll guess they're to a bunker but am I looking for
something particular?” I said, passing the book to
Piotr.

“
I'm not saying this is THE bunker because I don't know that.
What I do know is that this was drawn first,” she said.

“
It's in the middle though,” I replied.

“
Yeah, exactly - the EXACT middle where the bindings are. It's
exactly middle of this notebook. The ink is older than all the
other sketches.”

“
There's a date from when he visited it though and it's in
sequence with the others,” said Piotr.

“
It was written afterwards - the ink is different to the
sketch itself. This was the first sketch and he put it in the
middle as a pointer to show how important this one was compared to
all the others without it being too obvious.”

“
Okay, I'm with you so far. So what does this mean to
us?”

“
After that, I examined all the other sketches and I think he
wrote outwards from the centre - working to the beginning and the
end. In ancient literature it was a pretty useful way of showing a
reader what the writer thought was important when they didn't have
the punctuation that we have now.”

I cocked my eyebrow. “You have hidden depths,” I
said.

“
Sunday school teaching,” she replied. “Some parts of the
bible do the same thing. The middle of the passage is the key, the
other bits are just pointers to it.”

“
Okay, so what do you think?”

“
I think it's a long shot but we should try this one first.
I’ve circled it on your map. Am I right in thinking that these
bunkers were just thrown up before the Panic in order to give local
authorities somewhere to fall back to?”

“
Yeah,” I said, “They weren't protection against anything more
serious than missile strikes. A nuclear explosion would have turned
them into ash. They were hastily built - like the one we
visited.”

“
So we can expect this one to look the same,” said Piotr,
studying the notebook.

“
Yeah, but it won't be - if I'm right. And I have a hunch that
Alex and Saska will have at least been there, if they aren't there
already.”

We were a little more hopeful now that it seemed that Riley
had discovered part of something Dad had wanted me, or someone, to
eventually discover. I cleared away the breakfast things whilst the
two of them began packing their gear, ready to set off. I wanted to
take my time, to make sure the house was in order - the journey
would take a couple of weeks on foot and the Land Rover was still
out of the question. It'd mean leaving it somewhere out there,
without fuel and without a hope of getting it back. It made more
sense to leave it in the garage for emergencies. We'd just have to
try and make the best time we could and hope that if Alex and Saska
were there then their work would keep them there until we
arrived.

Riley was quickly packed and she met me in the hallway as I
closed up the kitchen, making sure the stove was cold and any
perishables had been dealt with. Her pack had reduced in size and I
noticed that the comms system wasn't there.

“
You're not bothering with you long-range stuff?” I
asked.

“
No. I reckon that if they were going to get in touch it would
have happened by now. No point dwelling on it.”

“
I'm sorry...”

“
Don't be. We've got a mission and I intend to see it through.
Getting home is a problem I'll think about afterwards.”

“
Yeah, I guess so,” I said and I tried not to think about her
leaving. It suddenly seemed very hard to bear.

“
I guess I can't tempt you with a hammock then?” I
said.

“
I've gotten quite attached to the tent, thanks.”

I nodded, then went past her to the garage to get my things.
I took my usual load - it didn't change often and I was used to
being out for weeks at a time. I put some extra rifle ammunition in
one of the pouches of my pack, some more snare wire and changed my
dry clothes bag for thermal gear. If I was right, the temperatures
would plummet over the coming days and I expected to feel it. I
also loaded my food bag with light-weight dried foods to use in an
emergency. I'd hunt for most of my meals and save the dry stuff
until I needed it. The most important part of the pack load was
water and I packed a US army filter just in case.

I dumped my gear at Riley's feet and went through each room
making final checks before ushering the two of them outside so I
could lock up. Piotr knew he could help himself to my stores and so
did Riley but only she'd bothered to restock her food pouches,
recognising the MRE's I had in abundance. I knew that when I got
back I'd be left with the meals I hated.

“
All set?” I asked, hiding the keys again.

“
I think so,” said Piotr. “I was hoping your still was
running. I don't drink wine.”

“
It hasn't run in good number of years,” I said. “Have you run
out of vodka already?”

“
I am down to half a pint. It won't be enough!” he said,
laughing.. Riley, her sunglasses already in place, shook her
head.

“
Lead the way,” she said, offering me the path. I hitched my
pack on my shoulders, had a last minute pat-down to make sure I
hadn't forgot anything, then set off at a brisk pace, heading
south.

The countryside around the house had grown less wild, almost
as if it knew we'd been living there and had held back it's main
assault. The woodland had obviously suffered to provide us with
firewood and the weeds and wild growth seemed to take this on
board, only sending a small amount of creeping branches and vines
our way - unlike the first village we came to. It was a mass of
green and brown foliage broken only by the occasional fallen wall
of red brick or the last few steel struts of a rusting car. The
main road in was a mass of cracked and broken tarmac and the early
trunk of an oak tree had already started pushing its way up through
the white lines. Piotr, already used to seeing such sights, was
indifferent. Riley on the other hand stopped for a moment to survey
it through her black glossy lenses.