GROUND ZERO EARTH
PROLOGUE
SOMEWHERE IN THE SOUTH EAST OF ENGLAND.
The labs were sterile, they had to be, for the experiments that went on down here were of the most utmost secrecy. Since the Government had cut the defence plan for the lands military across the board, one man had been so incensed at what he believed was the rape of his country, he had used all his wealth and his skill to create soldiers that could not be harmed by normal means. The perfect predators on the battlefield and the perfect defenders for their homeland.
He sought to return the British Isles to their place within the hierarchy of the worlds military might, and with this force at his command, he would take the power of the government from them. This was going to be the rebirth of a nation that he had loved and adored.
The plan was simple and for a bio-chemist as skilled as he was, it still took years to perfect. A drug administered to those strong of body and mind. A drug able to heal any wound, reknit bone and sinew, and should they suffer a mortal wound, allow their bodies to reanimate itself once more. With this drug perfected, then his dream of the perfect empire would be realised.
Security was tight here. It had to be and all the security personnel were ex special forces, or ex armed police officers. They took their orders from the CEO and the CEO alone, anyone that tried to get into Bunker 17 without a valid pass was detained until they had been identified.
Over the years stories of vanishing press officers had circulated which in turn had made Bunker 17 the bogeyman of the land that surrounded it. The local police could not investigate any thing, for they did not investigate rumours and, should any report make it to the Desk Sergeants desk, someone somewhere would make a phone call and it would vanish and all records erased.
From the outside world, Bunker 17 was the size of two World War II aircraft hangers, indeed to anyone passing by on the country lane, they would see people working on microlights or gliders, all under the guise of a private company.
The truth was far different, deep under the Hanger were a series of interlocking offices and labs and it was here that the enraged CEO was now pacing his office. Furious at the rejection from the MOD. They had laughed at him, told him that no such drug could exist and it was from the realms of the science fiction or the science mad. He had been told that there would be no more funding for his lunatic project.
He did not need their money, he had money of his own. He came from a wealthy family, a multi-millionaire. What he had needed, was for the generals and the admirals to see the potential in what he was offering. Twenty years of work thrown back in his face. He jerked his head up as his secretary came in and barked at her to get out.
Hurriedly the woman exited she had seen him like this once before and she was not prepared to be on the end of his dark mood. He locked his office door and crossed to the safe that sat snugly in his wall. Tapping in the code and letting it scan his retina, he took the phials that had been in there for three days. It looked like they were filled with water, but he knew better.
Tucking them into his pocket he unlocked his door and left his office. Taking a long walk to the maintenance vents he ignored the people around him, something he never did but, like his secretary they all knew that his dark mood was best left unchallenged. He walked into the air conditioning room and closed the door.
1.
Shaun Doyle moved aside as a group of young women made their way to the London Nightclub. They paused to take an appreciative look over the suited man, then giggling to themselves, they carried on in the direction they were walking. He allowed a coy smirk to cross his lips, paused to light a cigarette and walked on.
Dressed in a black suit with a white shirt, the top collar undone and the second button undone, the tie halfway down his shirt. He was a well built man, brown hair that was going prematurely grey at the sides, his grey eyes were red lined from the few drinks he had had with his colleagues. They had just closed a year long investigation into gang that dealt in sex trafficking and slavery.
The resulting conviction had pleased them all, his DCI especially as it was her last case before she retired, but what he had seen, that would haunt him for the rest of his days. Just another one to add to the list of others that had been part of his life within the Flying Squad of Scotland Yard. The son of a former Metropolitan Police CID officer shot and killed in the line of duty, and a Russian Criminal Profiler Doyles life had been fairly idyllic when he was growing up.
He had a younger sister, who was only six when they got the visit from his fathers Commanding Officer, he had been killed by an armed robber whilst trying to stop a bank hiest. Doyle had been 12 and suddenly found himself catapulted from being a teenager trying to deal with the problems high school and adolescence gave him, to being the man of the house. His mother had been heartbroken and he had looked after them both, eventually the grief of loosing his father, his hero caused him to go through a rough patch at school.
Getting into fights, his studies suffering being rude to his peers. Eventually his mother had realised that she had put too much onto her eldest child and after an argument where he had sworn at her and almost broke everything in his room, he ended up crying in her arms. Professor Katya Roschenko Doyle had been guilt ridden that she had left her son to deal with this when in reality, she should have been there for him.
Doyle knuckled down and improved his school work, he joined the police and through sheer bloody mindedness worked his way up to CID and then a place on the much vaunted, famous and infamous Flying Squad, or Sweeney as it was more commonly known.
Married and divorced he had one daughter, who he adored and saw every weekend, unless he was working on a large case, at those times, he ex-wife was fairly understanding, she was a Barrister so she was well aware of the long hours the Sweeney worked.
There had been no one else involved in their divorce, it was simple really they had just drifted apart, but Nicky Anson-Doyle knew how much he loved his daughter and he always made the maintenance payments and took her out at weekends, had her for holidays and alternate Christmas holidays. If he was called into work, then his daughter Stasia would be with her grandmother and Auntie Natalie.
Long hours had led to shorter time at home and the drinking didn't help either. He wasn't an alcoholic but, after a particularly hard case, one that he would not discuss with his wife, it was natural for him to go for a drink with his lads and lasses. They understood for they had lived it for however long the investigation had been going on for.
He stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray on the pub wall and hailed a cab. Getting in he gave his home address and rested his head back. Now all he wanted was a long hot bath and an Indian. Yeah that was an idea. He would get his flatmate to ring out and order an Indian maybe play a couple video games anything that would get the last year out of his mind.
He lived the other side of Westminster and as he watched the London night begin to come alive he allowed himself to be swallowed by the city. This was a city that was alive, he had been to other cities in the world but nothing had ever compared to London Town, although he had been born in Newcastle and came to London when he was just a teenager he had grown to love his adopted home city.
There was life and a history here that nothing could compare to. Sure there were areas that were violent and you didn't walk alone down but that was true of any city you went to. Didn't matter where you lived, hell he'd been to New York and Johannesburg on several occasions for work related matters, been shot in New York, the bullet wound on his shoulder a badge of honour and yet with all their underlying seediness, they were not a patch on London.
As the Cab headed away from Shaftesbury Avenue he mentally mapped the areas he knew were controlled by the gangsters. Porn, drugs, funny money, all of it moved through their hands. That was why he loved his job, nothing was ever the same twice. The Irish Gangs had joined forces with the London bosses to take down the Slovak gangs, sometimes the Slovaks and the Russians teamed up with the home bred bosses to take on the Triads or Yakuzza, all in all, their gangland culture was messy and violent. Every XXX shop he passed had some big name attached to it. No matter how many time he and his team had taken them down, someone rose to take their place.
He reached into his pocket as his phone began to rang and glanced at the screen, he answered it. "Hello sweetheart,"
"Are you home yet Daddy?"
He turned his attention to the phone call, the one young lady in his life that meant more to him than life itself. He settled back in his seat and listened as his daughter told him all about her day at school.
Doyle woke up and after laying in his bed for several moments he swung his legs out of bed, pulled his boxers on and walked from his room into the bathroom. When he came out he walked into the front room to see his flatmate Simon Mortimer peering out the window.
"Something wrong?" he asked with a sleep filled voice "or you perving at the guy across the road again"
"You need to see this Shaun"
Doyle rolled his eyes, he had no wish to look at any male eye candy, that was Simon's thing, not his. "Unless she's a red head, not interested mate"
Mortimer glanced at his friend and arched an eyebrow "You really need to see this."
Hearing the urgency in his voice Doyle forgoes the idea of coffee for the moment and joined his friend at the window. He looked out to see...nothing, or at least nothing he could see as anything unusual.
All he could see were cars parked up, some a little haphazard sure, but there had been a party going on at one of the other apartments last night and that was nothing unusual. The Summer brought out the madness that made BBQ's turn into all night raves.
"Maybe that Tikka last night had something in it that's playing with your mind"
Doyle went and made himself a coffee and turned the TV on. The lead story seemed to be some explosion in Kent that had decimated two old war hangers. He sipped his coffee and lit a cigarette, flicking through the channels until he got to the sports news and waited to see if his beloved Newcastle FC had won their match last night
He scowled and glanced at his friend. Simon was a handsome man, not as well built as Doyle and not from the same social circle, as his ex wife put it. Mortimer's father was a prominent businessman, whose family dealt with military as well as civilian contracts. One of the biggest mega-corporations London had.
He was the same age as Doyle with black hair and grey eyes and he was a member of Special Branch. Despite their differing social backgrounds they had worked on several cases together, departmental rivalry aside they actually hit it off. It didn't bother Doyle that Mortimer was gay, if anything it made date night interesting, and Mortimer adored Doyles daughter.
When Doyles divorce had come through Mortimer gave him a set of keys to his apartment in Westminster and told him to move in. it was central to their work locations and Mortimer didn't want a man he considered his best friend to get swallowed by the housing market. Doyle liked the man a lot. He was a regular guy who just happened to be gay, not that he allowed that to interfere in his work, he was one of the best undercover officers in the Special Branch.
Never allowed his personal life to interfere with his work life and kept it strictly private, in his line of work he had to. His family however were not happy about his lifestyle choices and had long ago cut him off. Mortimer didn't care, Doyles mother and sister had adopted him into their lives. In fact he often called Professor Doyle mum.
"So what caught your attention then?" Doyle asked sitting on the big leather armchair that was his comfort seat.
Mortimer had a serious expression on his face and shook his head "Maybe your right Shaun, thought I saw something, but its too quiet and for a Saturday morning at this time, that's kinda weird wouldn't you say?"
Doyle glanced at his watch and shrugged "Judging by that party at Stella's last night, I think they are all sleeping it off. Speaking of which I thought you would have gone to that one, seeing as Stella fancies your arse"
"He's too queenly for me" Mortimer moved away from the window "Are we having the delightful little Princess today?"
"Not today, she's at Nicky's parents for the weekend," Doyle stretched "but she's on holiday from school next week, I got her from Thursday"
"Good, I went suit shopping and saw this delightful outfit for her so brought it."
He reached into a bag and pulled out an outfit for a ten year old. Pink and white. Doyle shook his head "No wonder Nicky likes you" He muttered "But I am sure Stasia will want to wear it, she always wears what you buy her."
Mortimer grinned and set it back in the bag "I grew up with a sister who thinks she is the next Stella McCartney, learnt to know what would and what wouldn't go right and that little dress screamed princess at me"
"And you say you are not a Queen" Doyle chuckled "having a gay guy as a flatmate is kinda cool."
"Yes but having one as your best friend...even better" Mortimer sat down and flicked back to the news channel "Newcastle lost last night, beaten by city 3 nil"
"Great" Doyle snorted "that's twenty quid I owe Daniels, he's going to crow about that one the Mancunian git"
They watched as the Sky News team moved back to the main story. The woman reporting was a fair distance from the fire, and as she spoke they saw bodies being brought from the burning remains. As she went onto explain that the authorities believed that the fire had been caused by a spark from a welder igniting the aviation fuel both men winced.
They could see the black body bags lined up and despite their own horror visions in their line of work, neither man liked the sight of burnt bodies, the stench was something that was hard to get out of their clothes and their skin.
Mortimer picked his mobile up "Mortimer...yes sir, he's right here sir...yes sir...I'll tell him...yes sir we'll be there." Mortimer turned his phone off and glanced at his friend "We are wanted there" he pointed at the screen.
"Huh?" Doyle arched an eyebrow.
"Seems the Sweeney and Branch are working together on this, something about a hidden area that the press haven't and cannot see."
"Err we don't do that shit that's your department."
"Not when one of the bodies pulled out of that mess happens to be Frederick Howard."
"I was investigating him last year for allegedly creating illegal drugs but got a phone call from one of your governors telling me to leave it alone"
"Yeah well, now my Geordie brother you are being told to work with us, come direct from your governor too. Especially when they think he set it off deliberately."
"Fuck" Doyle finished his coffee and dived into the shower.
Mortimer got up and glanced out the window again to see a man dressed like something from a drag night stagger out of their neighbours house and make his way down the street. Mortimer shrugged, probably still drunk, after all that Drag Queens parties were known to go on for a few days. He walked up the small spiral staircase to his room and shut the door, thinking nothing more off it.
