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.”“Nostalgia, isn't it great?” Richard said.“Michael plugged the memory stick into his computer.“Okay, take a look.You interested, Archibald?”Archibald hesitated.Finally he relented and rose from his seat.“Okay, I'll bite.”Michael opened some of the images.“Jesus,” Richard said, burying his face in a hand.“We went all the way for those? What the fuck are we going to do now?”Archibald cracked a wry smile.“Get a new case.One you might actually be able to solve.”“Yeah, like those rotting corpses? How did that one work out for you, Archie?” Richard said.“Hey, you know what, Michael? Don't sweat.I'll talk to Harris, and he'll shake the pillars of heaven.The skies will fall and by tomorrow we'll have another lead.Trust me.Log everything we've done, file the reports and then go home and get yourself a pint.Tomorrow, I guarantee something good will happen.”Archibald chuckled, as Richard hurried outside.“Maybe he's full of shit, but at least he put a smile on your face.Bad day, I guess?”The chuckle faded, but Archibald was still grinning.He sat back down with another sigh.“Yeah, that's one way of looking at it.I wouldn't mind getting out of this job, but I've been doing it for so long now I don't think I could do anything else.Got nothing to retire on, either.That's if they don't just shut us down full stop.“I thought living in England would be better than Nigeria.Then the war happened and suddenly it feels like the roles have been reversed.”“They can look forward to a world of trouble if they do that.Even more trouble than we already have.You ever seen a fire team solve a crime? They cruise around in their fighting vehicles and get out when they can be arsed.People don't like it; you've seen them.Sooner or later these demonstrations are going to stop being local nuisances.People are at the wall.”Archibald gave a weary nod.“Guess so.”Michael flicked through images of the police squad collecting payment from the bakery.He sat there for five minutes, wondering in the green glow of the monitor what he could do about it.He could inquire, write letters, investigate, but sooner or later it would always come back to haunt the bakery.He typed up his reports and filled out the daily log on the word processor, and then sent it to the laser printer.Sheets of paper spilled into the wire tray.Archibald's watch began to beep.He grinned to himself and turned the alarm off.“Home time?” Michael said.“Not quite; I'm taking the wife and kids for dinner.I've been looking forward to it all week.There's a commercial district adjacent to one of the gated communities.Lots of security, very safe, and the perfect place to have Chinese.The food is cooked to perfection.What about you? Wife, kids, family?”Michael shook his head.He collected the printouts together and tapped them on the table to align the edges.“I've got a sister down in Cornwall, but we don't talk.We haven't spoken since the war.She's still pissed because my father bankrupted the entire family to pay for surgeons to stitch me back together when they dragged my sorry arse back from the war.My dad was a good guy, but my sister wouldn't agree, though.”“Well, I've had my share of family trouble in the past.Don't leave it too late if you ever want to fix things up.You only get one chance.I've got to get moving; the next shift will be coming in soon.”Archibald reached across the table and shook his hand.“It's good to have you on the team.We could really use another guy with some experience.Sometimes it feels like I'm the only one keeping things running around here.See you later.”Michael waited until the other man had shut the door, and then searched the office for a stapler.A fresh influx of voices sounded from the corridor outside, and he hesitated for a moment, just listening to it all.He pressed down and forced a staple through the papers.Footsteps passed by as he moved to the window and pulled the blinds apart to look down on the street below.Searchlights swept back and forth on one of the city pillars in the distance.He didn't want to go home tonight, but there was nowhere else to go.Michael gathered his stuff and travelled up a floor to administration.The room was nearly empty, save for a man and a woman, each seated at their desks and muttering on the phones.He left the reports in Samantha's intake tray.Outside in the car park, the air was chilly and the wind strong.Cold crept down the back of his neck, and his tie flapped violently.He fumbled with his car keys, watching the place empty car by car as though the world was leaving him behind.One of the vehicles exploded.He fell down, as car alarms shrieked.The blast forced the doors off at the hinges, and orange fire lashed out from the vehicle, dancing, flickering, sometimes retreating enough to reveal the charred body slumped against the steering wheel.His nostrils twitched at the smell of burning petrol.People ran from the building and there was a ringing in his ears, growing stronger with every beat of his heart.He stood up, shaking, and stepped away from the fire.People gathered by the front doors, watching the vehicle burn with mouths agape.“Are you hurt?” Samantha said?He shook his head and moved behind the cover of a plastic tree.Samantha looked away from the carnage.Her face turned pale as a trail of blood leaked from her left nostril.“Your nose is bleeding,” he said.Samantha pulled a tissue from her pocket, but she was too slow to stop a drop of blood staining her white shirt; it left a long, blotted line from collar to breast.“What the hell is going on? I knew her, she worked the desk in front of me.Why would somebody blow her up?”His mind flashed back to the memory of his old station disappearing in an explosion.“I don't know.Somebody will have to find out.There's cameras up there trained on the car park all day, every day.Either that car came in here rigged, or somebody planted the bomb in full view.”“I have to tell her family.”She wandered off in a daze, head bowed, one hand clutching her brow.He watched her go, and then looked down at his trembling hand; the tremble ran the length of his arm and down his entire body.Michael went back to his car and silenced the alarm.He got down on the ground, produced his pocket torch and slid underneath the vehicle.He flashed the light about.Nothing.His mind raced, breathing becoming shallower.A pair of feet clad in combat boots stopped by his legs.“You okay?” the man said.Michael crawled out into the open.The policeman was dressed in full body armour and combat gear.He raised the visor on his helmet.“Hey, I asked if you were you okay.”He stood up.“I'm fine.You've got tactical mirrors in the armoury, right? For checking corners?”“Yeah, we've got them.”“You might want to start handing them out.People will need to check underneath their cars.”The policeman looked over his shoulder at the burning wreck.Chapter 6.Michael drove to Croydon.Concrete buildings rose up all around him, some still scorched and ruined from the war.The others were empty now the workers had gone home for the night.Handfuls of people milled about the streets beneath flashing lights and advertisement displays.A police fire team stood watch behind concrete barriers with their armoured personnel carrier.He turned left at the sign for the Acel Clinique and drove through the security checkpoint with its electric fence and razor wire.The hospital was five stories of grey brick and multiple smaller buildings spread across the interior of the compound, most of them abandoned and in disrepair
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