Read Online The Suicide Exhibition: The Never War (Never War 1) by Justin Richards - Free Book Online Page B

thinking I might walk to London Bridge.’
    ‘You work round here?’ the man asked. ‘I have an office a few streets away, on the edge of Whitehall. But I end up all over the place these days. Some of the chaps I work with even have desks down here.’ He looked round. ‘Well, not here exactly, but in unused tube tunnels.’
    Guy had heard of some government departments and even protected businesses being relocated underground for safety.
    ‘I’ve got a boring office job,’ he said, vaguely.
    The man smiled knowingly. ‘Me too. David Alban.’ He juggled the briefcase to shake hands.
    Guy was surprised how firm the man’s grip was. But he smiled and introduced himself. Chances were they’d never meet again. The tracks were humming which meant a train was coming. A crowd of people had built up behind them, pressing forwards as the train approached.
    ‘Going to be a bit of a crush,’ Guy said loudly to Alban as the train drew in.
    ‘Oh, I’m not waiting for the train.’
    ‘What?’
    Alban smiled, and again looked like an overgrown schoolboy. But his words sent a chill through Guy. ‘I just wanted to talk to you.’
    The train squealed to a halt and the doors opened. People were pushing past as they got out on to the platform. Alban stepped closer to Guy to leave them room. His voice was clear in Guy’s ear:
    ‘You really should drop this Brinkman thing, you know. It’s not doing you any favours, and it’s best to have nothing to do with those jokers from Station Z. Between you and me, their time will come.’
    The office was in turmoil when Guy arrived for work next morning. There was more than the usual rush and bother. Messengers came and went at a run, and the phones seemed to be ringing constantly.
    ‘Drop whatever you were planning to do today. Going to need your help with the latest translation, there’s so much stuff coming in,’ Chivers told Pentecross. ‘How’s your Russian?’
    ‘Passable,’ Guy admitted.
    Chivers gave a snort of laughter. ‘Is there a language in which you are not “passable”?’ he asked.
    Guy smiled. ‘Oh yes, plenty. I’m saving them for my retirement.’
    ‘Rather you than me.’
    ‘But why are we getting intercepts in Russian for God’s sake?’
    Chivers dabbed at his forehead with a grubby handkerchief. It was 21 June and the heat was building in every sense. ‘Because the glorious armies of the Third Reich are even as we speak preparing to march into the Soviet Union.’
    Guy felt the blood draining from his face. ‘How do we know what’s happening?’
    Chivers raised an eyebrow. ‘I was told not to ask. Enough said, eh?’
    ‘Does Stalin know?’
    ‘I’m told he’s been warned it’s imminent. But whether he believes us is another matter.’
    ‘But…’ Guy was struggling to understand the implications. ‘That’s got to be a good thing, hasn’t it?’
    ‘Best news we’ve had all year,’ Chivers agreed. ‘But for the moment it makes things bloody hard work. So all hands to the pump.’
    The invasion of Russia – Hitler’s ‘Operation Barbarossa’ – started the next day. Once the tanks were rolling across the border, things actually calmed down. But Chivers was wilting under the stress and the midsummer heat. Guy found him in his office, head in hands and sweating profusely.
    ‘I haven’t been home for three days,’ he confessed. ‘God alone knows what the wife thinks I’m up to. Can’t remember when I last slept. Now they want me at some emergency meeting at the War Rooms. Spirit’s willing, but the flesh… Well that’s another matter.’ He stood up, wobbled slightly and immediately sat down again.
    It hadn’t occurred to Guy before that the stress actually affected Chivers. But now he began to understand that the man just hid it well. They all dealt with it in their own way – Chivers’ apparent jovial disinterest was his way. He stood up again, and forced a smile.
    ‘Needs must when the devil drives,’ he said, with a