The Fog - James Herbert [106]
Holman had followed Mason’s instructions and driven slowly along the Embankment, turning left on command into what appeared to be an underground car park belonging to one of the large government office buildings. It was in darkness, but Holman had seen many cars crammed together in the glare of the vehicle’s headlights. A lane had been left clear, and this he followed, going deeper and deeper below ground. It ended in a solid, concrete wall. Mason pressed a switch and began saying several words that sounded senseless to Holman; he realized they must have been in code. The wall before them suddenly rose into the ceiling and he saw a long box-shaped room beyond.
Mason touched his arm and the huge helmet nodded towards the opening. Holman drove forward and stopped once inside. The wall behind was lowered again and they sat in silence for a full minute until, quite abruptly, the wall before them swung open and they were faced with a long, dimly-lit corridor which again seemed to end in a blank wall. As they passed through, Holman saw that the wall which had just opened was in fact made of grey metal and was at least eighteen inches thick.
The corridor sloped downwards and they passed through two more doors before they entered a large, open area. Holman estimated they had travelled at least a quarter of a mile to reach this point. He noticed another vehicle looking identical to the one he had been travelling in parked in a far corner. A group of grey-suited men who had been waiting for them, each holding a long canister which was connected to a central box, stepped forward, pointing the canisters’ nozzles at the vehicle, and then began to spray it with an almost invisible substance.
‘Sit tight just a moment longer, sir,’ said Mason. ‘We were decontaminated when we first entered the tunnel, but this is a final going over. As a further precaution, they’ll spray us as we get out.’
‘Spray us against what?’
‘The whole complex is sterile; there’s not a germ down here. Everyone and everything that comes in is decontaminated. You see, it’s built to contain at least three hundred people for anything up to ten years. If any bug got loose in such a confined space, well, it’d spread like wildfire.’
‘Ten years?’ Holman looked incredulously at the hooded figure. ‘Just what the hell is this place?’
‘I thought you knew. I thought you’d been told.’
Holman shook his head slowly.
‘This,’ said Mason, ‘is a fallout shelter. A government fallout shelter.’
Mason waited for a comment from Holman, but none came so he continued. ‘They started building it in the early 1960s and are still adding to it. If the country were ever to reach the point of crisis – the point atomic war was inevitable – this is where the most important VIPs will come. There’s a tunnel that leads directly to the Houses of Parliament, another that leads to the Palace.’
Holman’s smile was cynical. ‘Are there any others like it? For the ordinary people, I mean.’
‘Er, I don’t know about that, sir. These things are kept pretty much a secret. I know there isn’t another in London, but I’ve visited one in Manchester and I assume some of the other major towns have them.’
‘But all for “special” people.’
‘Well, they could hardly cope with the whole population of Great Britain, could they, sir?’
Holman sighed. ‘No, I suppose not. But I wonder how you qualify to be a “special” person.’
Mason changed the subject. ‘Time to get out now,’ he said.
Holman was led along more corridors by a young unexcited man, who, despite the crisis, was dressed immaculately and tastefully in a dark blue pin-stripe suit, deep red tie and spotlessly white collar. He spoke quietly and efficiently, explaining to Holman exactly what had happened during the night and how it was now being coped with.