Downtime - Marc Platt [26]
Duty Officer Rikki Patel, not one to miss a trick – not since the Tibet explosion fiasco at any rate flicked through the previous day’s computer lists. It was the usual log of Geneva’s accessions and transactions, but three entries commanded his interest.
There were two enquiries to the personnel records database from Second Lieutenant Douglas Cavendish, and a third from Flight Lieutenant Per Londqvist of Valkyrie Flight.
Dashing Duggie had been far too cocky since he’d come bounding to the rescue with his Tibet report. He had certainly made it clear that Patel owed him one for that favour.
His first request concerned data on the name ‘Waterfield, Victoria’. Access was denied – a formal instruction that suggested that information was held under a security lock.
Apparently Cavendish did not have the clearance for this, since his enquiry went no further.
It was the next enquiry that made Patel sit up. Both Cavendish and Londqvist were requesting the same information. The input name was ‘Travers, Edward (Professor)’. Access was given.
DO Patel logged into the database and entered the name himself. The system was slow – four years old and already out of date. The terminal whirred and clicked before finally disclosing its information. All the screen showed was ‘Subject Deceased, 80/25/12. File closed.’
‘So sorry, Duggie,’ observed Patel in an Eton accent. ‘Too frightful. The old bugger probably choked on a mince pie.’ It was a fate he wished the precocious young officer might enjoy as well. But it was a long time to wait until Christmas.
3
A Day at the Zoo
s befitted the cold end of September, the zoo was Adeserted. The leaves were already turning and there was a bite to the air. Sarah Jane Smith was a little early for the photocall so she made a detour to go and talk to the elephants.
There were no elephants to be seen, so she talked to a rhino instead. It was a one-sided conversation. She leaned on the railing and said, ‘Hello, rhino,’ and it ignored her and got on with some important munching.
‘Your interviewing technique’s going a bit rusty,’ said a voice behind her.
She froze. ‘Charlie!’ She turned and flung her arms round his neck, hugging him tight. ‘I thought you were in...’
‘Paris?’ he mumbled.
‘No, Nepal! I thought you were plant-hunting.’ She pulled back to look at him. Charles Bryce, sickeningly brown, with his golden hair bleached almost albino. ‘You look wonderful.’
‘So do you, Sarah darling.’
‘I should have guessed you’d be here at this.’
‘Why else do you think they put you on this story?’
‘I see,’ she grinned. ‘Well, at least there’ll be someone here worth talking to.’ She looked round. ‘Is Jill here?’
‘Nah. She is in Paris, cataloguing my plants. It was a good trip.’
‘You have a saintly wife, Charlie.’ Sarah took his arm.
‘Come on. You can tell me all about Yeti before all the bowing and scraping starts.’
As they walked across the zoo, they saw a large group of people standing on one of the lawns opposite the main restaurant – a motley mixture of civil servants and reporters.
Sarah waved to Robin, her photographer, who was already milling among the throng.
‘It’s all gone very smoothly,’ said Charles. ‘Suddhodana, he’s the father, he’s already been flown back to Peking. But mother and child are doing fine.’
Sarah consulted her notes. ‘That’s Mahamaya?’
‘Correct.’
‘And what’s the baby called?’
His smile drooped a little. ‘Ah, well. That’s due to be announced once the ceremony’s underway.’
‘Oh, oh.’ Sarah had known Charles since college and could tell when a bombshell was on the way. ‘Do I detect a spot of diplomatic chicanery?’
He had a sheepish smile. ‘Everything’s tied up with selling Hong Kong off to China.’
‘And your poor old Yeti got caught up in the negotiations.’
She hugged him. ‘Poor Charlie. They should have asked you.
You were the first person to catch one and bring it back into captivity.’
‘Yeah, well, China got one soon after. But just recently I’ve seen reports of two being used as dancing bears in Russia.’
There