The Quest For Perfection (Is A Damn Fine Thing)

Part III: The Flooding of Fredrick Street - Chapter 20

20

"Initiate the flood protocol."

And the phone clicked dead. Peter sat there for a moment in a daze, cramped in a tiny store cupboard in darkness with his headphones playing the sound of a dead telephone line into his ears. He had listened intently, as Dr. Wyatt spoke to a man on the phone, informing him that they'd lost another participant. He had listened as the man on the other end of the phone toyed with her (or at least that's how it sounded to Peter) as she defended the project. That didn't matter to the man though. He wanted it pulled, the results they wanted were not forthcoming and it may be best to put an end to it. He had listened, when the man on the other end of the phone, Mr. Wells, had uttered those words.

"Initiate the flood protocol."

The words echoed in his ears. They were going to flood the place, and everyone inside. That would explain the water in the walls, thought Peter, as his mind whirred, trying to piece together everything he had heard and make some sense of it.

He had bugged the phones in the offices of the project's leaders a few months ago, namely Dr Wyatt and Ray (Tom was gone by the time he had his brain wave) and the conversations were mostly banal. But this was far from it. This - they wanted to flood the place. They were going to kill everyone, wipe the board clean and start again.

"Pick those you view as essential personnel."

Anger started to boil deep within Peter then, as the jigsaw started to take shape. They were going to turn this place into a well, water filled to the top. Worst of all, it didn't fully surprise Peter. He almost expected this kind of stunt to be pulled.

I have assurances, he thought. Remembering.

There was not a chance in hell he was going to let these people get away with any more than they'd already had.

Slowly, and quietly, he slid the headphones behind the ventilation shaft at the base of the cupboard and slipped back into the corridor, busy with people in white coats and suits, oblivious as to the danger they faced.

Unless they were essential personnel, he thought, another bubble of anger. Was he not essential personnel? Was Colin?

Colin.

He had been right, in many ways. Peter spared a thought for his friend, knowing then in that moment that he would never him again. Whatever had happened to him and what was about to happen, they had shared their last lunch together. It was thoughts of Colin, and the phone call, that spurred him on; he was filled now with a hot-boiled rage.

Initiate Flood protocol. He couldn't share shake those words, how callously they had been spoken. It didn't take a genius to figure out what he'd meant by it. They were essentially in an underground aquarium. A stationary submarine, goldfish in a fish bowl. The walls were either rigged with explosives, and they would self detonate and flood the complex and those with it, or the walls would simply come apart.

And they would. He'd make sure of it. Just not on their timescale.

He turned sharply down the corridor and moved toward his destination. As he did, a nursery rhyme from his childhood came back to him:

Ring-a-ring o' roses,

A pocket full of posies,

A-tishoo! A-tishoo!

We all fall down.

Peter moved throughout the Complex with ease, flashing his badge at the security and the turnstiles, moving into the depths of the building. Eventually, he found the porter's supply closet. There was a myriad of tools located within, but he would only need a few. Putting on his tool belt he left the closet and made his way to the tank room.