Chapter 8

Watching from the window of the train, I could hardly believe my eyes. It was the first time I'd been down to London since the press launch. There hadn't been any real information on the TV or radio. The countryside had a withered, scoured look. It looked dry, like Southern California but without the gardens. The grass was all brown. About every third or fourth big tree was down. And those trees hadn't just fallen over, either. They had been smashed flat, crunch! Like they'd been stepped on by a giant's foot; the brilliant white splintered trunks of the old smashed oaks looked like broken bones sticking out of a compound fracture.

The amount of storm damage on the way into London was really quite upsetting. The old church spire at Apsley lay on the ground, shattered. Even some of the big buildings along the line were heavily damaged. The old Ovaltine factory north of Kings Langley had half of its front and the digital clock knocked down. I think that was the sight that upset me the most. I can't really say why, exactly. Ovaltine gone; funny the way nostalgia can hit you in the strangest places. In the suburbs, about a third of the houses I saw had obvious new repairs to their roofs, missing chimneys or both. Almost all the TV aerials and satellite dishes were bent double, the few that were still there. That was one improvement, all right, but just about the only one.

I was met at Euston by an official driver in a shiny black new Honda. For the first time in years, London wasn't totally choked up with traffic. It was a really eerie. It reminded me of a Christmas Day I'd spent in London about twenty years ago. 'Not much traffic, is there?' I commented to the driver. We were already past University College London and well down Gower Street.

'Certainly not as bad as usual, sir,' he replied. 'This new no-parking scheme for civilians has helped a lot. But I hear that a lot of people just can't get in with cars these days because of the storms. They take the trains or the tube or they just stay home, sir. Lots of the old one-way streets have been opened up to both ways now.'

I glanced out of the side window. I couldn't see any damage. 'I don't see any sign of storms around here,' I commented.

'Hasn't been so bad up here in town, sir,' the driver answered. 'It's worse south London. One of my mates told me that a lot of the small roads down there are still blocked from last week's blow-up.' We crossed Oxford Street. It was thronged with people as usual, I noticed with relief.

'Funny. I didn't hear anything about a storm last week,' I mused.

'Warnings was on the radio, sir,' replied the driver. 'Come to think of it, sir, it wasn't on the BBC. Must've been on the local radio. Guess these storms're getting a bit old hat now, sir. It couldn't have been a real big'un neither if it didn't make the news.' Leicester Square was jammed with traffic. Half the road was blocked by lorries around St Martins. The driver pointed. 'Right old mess over there, sir,' he said, 'Blocked the road for days when that old place fell in last month.' We circled Nelson's Column, still standing, and dived down Whitehall. The driver muttered something into his radio microphone. The car turned in the broad road and stopped outside Number 17. The driver jumped out and held open my door. I thanked him and pushed open the heavy wooden door.

I was met at the door by the efficient-looking girl from the press launch. She must have been waiting for me to arrive. 'Good morning, Professor Turner,' she said nodding to the guards. She handed me a pass, with my photo already on it. 'If just you'll follow me, sir, Mr Summers is waiting for you.' We walked to the small lift and went up to the second floor. I followed her through a labyrinth of narrow corridors. The girl knocked on the door. Arthur's secretary opened it and showed me in.

Arthur stood up behind his desk and smiled. 'Well, I'm awfully glad you could make it today, Dick,' he said. His compact, cosy office faced out on to the Horse Guard parade grounds. 'Please do have a seat, Dick. Can I get you some coffee?' he asked.

'No thank you, Arthur,' I said, 'I had breakfast on the train.'

Arthur glanced nervously at his watch. 'Well, Dick, our meeting begins in about an hour,' he said. 'I have rather a surprise for you before then, Dick.'

'Not one of those already,' I groaned.

'This should be a pleasant surprise, Dick,' he said. 'The PM wants to meet you.'

'Oh,' I said, strangely shocked. The appointment hadn't seemed very real up until now. I still felt as if I might have imagined it.

'It shouldn't be too much of a surprise, Dick,' Arthur said. 'After all you are now her Deputy Head Government Scientist. Of course she will want to meet you. She is very concerned about this issue.'

'Well, yes, I suppose she is,' I said.

'And she is in the building right now, being briefed by the new Minister, our Secretary and Sir Anthony,' Arthur said. 'They'll call us down in a few minutes.' We sat there nervously, not talking. I was reminded of nerve racking job interviews of long ago.

Finally, the phone rang. Arthur snatched it up and said, 'Summers.' A flash of annoyance passed over his face. 'Sorry, Andy,' he said briskly, 'Can't speak right now. Waiting for the master's voice.' He clapped the phone back down. I stood up and looked out onto the Parade Ground, over to the Park. Many of the old trees were gone, of course; it looked a bit bare now.

The phone rang again. Arthur scooped it up. 'Hello,' he said eagerly. 'Yes, right away.' He jumped up. 'Come on, let's go, Dick. We slipped down a little staircase and threaded our way briskly along an intricate maze of corridors to the committee room. I'd have bet he didn't hurry like this very often, not even for the 5.17 from Waterloo.

One of several armed uniformed policemen stopped us outside the room. 'May I see your passes, gentlemen?' he demanded menacingly. He scrutinised them and frisked us carefully. He opened a wooden paneled door and we passed into a small office adjoining the committee room.

Another policeman in plain clothes blocked the committee room door. 'If you gentlemen would be seated, please,' he ordered us.

A secretary inspected me carefully. 'The Prime Minister will see you in one minute, Professor Turner,' he said. Arthur and I sat and waited for about five minutes. I couldn't believe how nervous I was.

Finally, the door opened and the Secretary stepped out. He beckoned me into the committee room. I walked down the long table to where the PM sat. The Minister and Sir Anthony flanked her. She stood and extended her hand. I pressed it briefly. It was cool and dry; leathery, really. 'Professor Turner,' she said briskly, 'How very, very good of you to join us here today.'

She looked a considerable deal older and smaller than I had expected. I guessed her comeback had taken a lot out of her; I'd thought she was dead. 'Thank you, Prime Minister,' I replied. My voice quavered slightly.

She stared sternly at me for a second. 'You know, Professor Turner, the pollution issue is a very, very serious one,' she said heavily. 'I shall always go on believing in and continue to form those policies which will protect our precious environment. Pollution is an issue which affects us all deeply. People deserve a clean and healthy environment. You can just imagine that this is an issue which is causing this country a great deal of concern.'

'Yes, Prime Minister, so I believe,' I replied, my mouth dry.

'It is the desire of this Government to settle discussion about this matter once and for all, Professor Turner,' she continued. 'We are most deeply distressed that concern about the environment appears to be greatly undermining public confidence and sapping national economic growth.' She turned and regarded Sir Anthony coldly. 'What is important is that you and Sir Anthony recommend, with all possible speed, an effective course of action to remedy this problem.' She looked at me expectantly.

I gulped. 'But, Prime Minister ...' I started.

'Yes, Professor?' she asked sharply. The men around her shot worried looks at me. They needn't have worried for her sake.

'P ... P ... rime Minister,' I stammered. She really did have the most exceedingly formidable presence I have ever experienced. 'B ... but there may well prove to be genuine and serious environmental problems, ma'am.'

'I would not exactly put it that way, Professor,' she said in a cutting tone. 'I firmly believe that the general pollution trend is down. However, if that should not prove to be the case, then it is the duty of you and Sir Anthony, as my Head Government Scientists, to propose effective measures to counter these problems.' She paused and glared almost ferociously at me.

It was quite clear that there was to be no further discussion of the matter. 'Well, y ... uh ... yes, of course, Prime Minister,' I stuttered eagerly. I gave a deep, involuntary bow and backed away. My hands were quivering, honest; I was sweating.

'I shall look forward to your early recommendations, Professor,' she said and smiled frostily at me. I hadn't felt so extraordinarily put down by anyone since Mrs Giles in Second Form had caught me picking my nose during the afternoon story.

What more can I tell you? We were all herded away from the Presence and taken straight down to the canteen. After a couple of glasses of well-chilled Liebfraumilch, I was feeling sufficiently rearranged to wax peevish about the luncheon provisions.

'I was really looking forward to that chicken mayonnaise again, Arthur,' I growled accusingly.

'Well, we had to stop having it after that last outbreak of H5M7,' replied Arthur placidly. He helped himself to a thick slice of ham. 'I'm just waiting for scrapie to hit pork,' he said gloomily. 'Mad pig disease is all we need.'

'Well, at least we've still got the rum babas,' said Sir Anthony consolingly. 'And they really are uncommonly good. Anyway, Dick, as you heard from the PM herself, we've got to get cracking on this Son of COCE.'

'You don't happen to remember "The Incredible Two Headed Monster, do you"?' I asked through a mouthful of salmon.

'Oh, why yes, of course I do, Dick. I do indeed,' replied Sir Anthony enthusiastically. He heaped his plate high with salad and cold meats. 'An absolute classic of schlock. Enormous great peaceful Latino chappie, a gardener, I think. With a psychopathic criminal's head grafted on by mad medic. Terrorises the California countryside. Ends up being blown away by the police or something like that. Circa 1970, as best I remember.' He regarded me craftily over his glasses. 'You wouldn't, by any chance, be alluding to you, me and the executive committee, would you, Dick?'

I told you that Sir Anthony was as subtle as all hell, didn't I. A crossword master? 'Umm, well, yes. Something like that, actually,' I murmured.

'Oh honestly, Dick, there's simply no point crying over spilt milk,' Sir Anthony said boldly. 'We're together on this one, for better or for worse, so we'd better make the best of it.'

I supposed he was right. I'm sure, too, that the evil head must have used a similar argument on the good one in that film. 'Umm,' I replied. I pushed my empty plate aside and deftly slid two lovely sticky rum babas onto a side plate. Sir Anthony eyed the remaining two cakes and hurried up eating his savories. 'What was the PM telling you this morning?' I asked to distract him. I wolfed down the first rum baba. He'd been right about at least one thing, it was delicious.

Arthur absent-mindedly took one of the two remaining rum babas. Sir Anthony's face set with grim determination. He gobbled even faster. 'Basically, she wants the problem to go away, Dick,' Sir Anthony said blandly. 'She wants us to make it go away with a minimum amount of fuss. This is not the sort of problem that the PM finds interesting.'

I finished my second rum baba and coolly lifted the last one on to my plate. Sir Anthony's blubbery chin fell with disappointment. Revenge was sweet, I thought as I cut the baba in two. 'Well what if there really is a problem?' I asked blandly.

'You mean like the end of the world?' asked Sir Anthony. He eyed the halves of my rum baba glumly, jowls drooping.

'Well, yes,' I said. 'Let's just try that one on for starters.' I wasn't about to give him one of them.

'Well, then,' he said, 'I guess we'll just have to convince the PM that there really is a problem with the environment and that it is seriously threatening the nation.'

'Do you think we can do that?' I asked. I pushed at one of the halves.

'No,' replied Sir Arthur curtly, 'I don't really think so. It's not the sort of problem she could ever really accept.'

'Oh, great,' I said rolling my eyes. 'So what do we do then?' My fork dropped its guard.

'I don't really know,' said Sir Anthony. He reached across the table with his fork, speared one of my rum baba halves and popped it straight into his mouth. 'I suppose we'll just have to find some way around her or something like that.' Then he speared the other.