‘Your holster’s on upside down,’ she says, appraising him with one quick glance.
‘Is it?’ Ben asks, twisting to look at the holster. ‘Oh shit, so it is . . . Bollocks.’
‘And you wanted to go on your own, yeah?’
‘Ready,’ Harry says, walking from his room into the middle section of their suite.
‘Boots,’ Safa says.
‘Aye.’
‘Harry, we talked about this.’ Safa rubs her forehead to rid the increasing fug clouding her mind.
‘Aye.’
‘You can’t wear boots from 1943.’
‘Aye.’
‘Fuck’s sake,’ she says, looking from Harry’s battered old boots to Ben fumbling with his holster.
‘How you feeling?’ Ben asks, glancing at Safa then Harry.
‘Like shit,’ Safa says.
‘Then don’t go. I can do it,’ Ben says.
‘Sure,’ Safa says, dropping down to open the case containing the pistols brought in from the firing range outside. ‘With your holster on upside down, yeah?’ she asks, pulling a gun out. ‘Harry.’ She waves the gun at him as the big man looks up from his boots to the pistol.
‘Nothing wrong with my boots,’ he says as he takes the gun and slides the top back to check the chamber.
‘Magazines,’ Safa says, holding a few up to him.
‘Good boots,’ Harry says, taking the magazines.
‘Old boots,’ Safa says.
‘Done it. Better?’ Ben says, presenting himself like a child on the first day of school wearing his shiny new uniform. The other two glance, appraise, grunt and go back to loading and checking guns. ‘Where’s mine?’ Ben asks, seeing Safa push one into the holster on her hip.
‘Minute,’ she says, pulling a third pistol from the container, which she starts checking.
‘I can do it,’ Ben says, holding his hand out.
‘I know. Have you used these while we were out of it?’
‘Yeah, did a few yesterday.’
‘Did you clean them?’
‘Yes!’ he says, seeing her hesitation. ‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing,’ she says. ‘Er, listen, Ben. Maybe me and Harry should go.’
‘Eh?’ He looks from Safa to Harry, who suddenly starts picking the crumbs from his clean shirt.
‘It’s different when people shoot back,’ Safa says, as blunt as ever.
‘What the fuck,’ Ben says. ‘You’ve trained me. I’ll be fine.’
‘I’ve trained you to fire a gun and fight unarmed, but that’s not . . .’
‘I’ll be fine. It’s Roland and his son. It’s in and out.’
‘Exactly. So maybe you don’t need a weapon.’
‘Safa, stop being a dick.’
‘Ben, this is serious. A firefight is fucking horrible. One split-second delay and you get killed.’
‘So, got a time machine. Come back and get me . . .’
‘Stop fucking about,’ she snaps, squeezing her eyes closed at the pain in the back of her head growing steadily worse.
‘Safa,’ Ben says, lowering his tone at seeing the blood drain from her face. ‘Stay here with Harry.’
‘No,’ she snaps again, standing up to pass the pistol over.
He goes to take it, but she holds on, refusing to hand it over. ‘Listen, you keep it holstered at all times. Do not draw it unless me or Harry tell you to. Okay?’
‘Don’t patronise me.’
‘Ben! Listen to me. You either promise to keep it holstered or you don’t go.’
‘What?’
‘I’m serious. I’m team leader. You’ll stay here if I say so.’
‘Are you taking the piss?’
‘Orders are orders, Ben,’ Harry mutters.
‘Fine,’ Ben says.
‘Stays holstered,’ Safa repeats, holding her eyes on his. ‘Okay?’
‘Fine,’ he says again, smarting from her tone. He takes the pistol, his hands working fluidly and fast to slide the top, check the chamber, check the safety and listen to the moving parts. ‘Am I allowed bullets?’
‘Rounds,’ Safa snaps.
‘Safa, take it easy,’ Ben says.
‘This is a live job. Switch on.’
‘Okay, okay, sorry . . .’
‘Don’t be sorry,’ she mutters, passing him several loaded magazines. She watches him like a hawk as he loads and makes ready. They both do. Harry towering, massive and quiet, but as worried as Safa at taking Ben out of the bunker into an unknown situation.
‘What?’ Ben asks, clocking the look that passes between them as he holsters the weapon and secures the spare magazines.
‘Nothing,’ Safa says quietly. ‘You okay now?’ she asks, studying him closely.
‘I’m fine. Honestly. I had ten days from when you . . . you know . . .’
‘Died?’ Harry asks.
‘Yeah, died. I had ten days . . . The doc gave me different meds, and I feel fine now. Seriously,’ he adds at the lack of assurance coming back from them.
‘Okay,’ Safa says after a pause. ‘We’ll get this done, then set up scenario training.’
‘Awesome,’ Ben says eagerly, then tuts at the hard glare. ‘Fuck’s sake . . . I’m fine. This is me now. That wasn’t me before . . . I was sick . . . Now I’m not sick. I’m me again. I’m happy. I’m happy as fuck you two are back. Seriously I am. Stop looking at me like I’m a twat . . .’ He trails off with a grin that grows wider as he spots the corners of her mouth twitching.
‘Idiot,’ she mutters, shaking her head, but at least smiling. ‘Ready then? Harry, you fit?’ She sets off, with the other two following her down the corridor to the main room. ‘Ben, when we deploy, you need to stay quiet and listen to everything we say.’
‘Yep.’
‘No messing about once we’re through.’
‘Got it.’
‘If I say to go back, then do it straight away.’
‘Roger . . . Do I say roger? Is that the right word?’
‘Just say okay.’
‘Okay, roger.’
‘If it goes bent, then stay behind Harry and me. Do not, and I repeat, do not run in front of us if we are aiming or firing.’ She stops at the doors to the main room and looks back at Ben.
‘Roger.’
‘Stop saying roger. Harry and I will act as guards, so you go forward to make the two subjects move.’
‘Roger that.’
‘Twat. Don’t ask them to do it. Tell them to do it. Force them. Make them move.’
‘Roger wilco.’
‘You’re an idiot,’ she tuts, pushing through the doors to see Miri drinking coffee and talking to Doctor Watson.
‘Roger roger,’ Ben mumbles.
‘We’re ready,’ Safa says, watching the woman cast a look over them all.
‘Comms?’ Miri asks, seeing a lack of earpieces and radio sets on the three.
‘Negative,’ Safa says curtly.
‘None?’ Miri asks curtly.
‘Affirmative,’ Safa says curtly.
‘No time now. Go without,’ Miri says.
‘Yes,’ Safa says.
‘Roger that,’ Ben says as Safa groans inwardly.
The doctor rises from his chair with two mugs clasped in his hands. ‘Something to help with the pain and fatigue.’
‘Thought we were having shots,’ Safa says as he walks over.
‘So did I until Miri pointed out I cannot use the time machine to go and get them,’ he says with a tight smile. ‘Which means we have to make do with what we have instead.’ He comes to a stop holding the mugs out to Harry and Safa.
‘Don’t I get one?’ Ben asks.
‘What is it?’ Safa asks, peering into the mug, then up at Ben shuffling closer to join in with the visual examination.