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always an old ritual of his not to wear underwear. Then he dons the long sleeved top. It is made from a special synthetic fibre for minimum thickness, but maximum heat retention. Next, he pulls on the tight windbreaker, and then places the utility belt around his waist. It consists of three holding units: a knife sheath, a pistol holster and night vision scope holder. They are spaced equally around the belt. He then removes the knife from the package, sheathes it, and clips it into place. He stows the night vision scope in its holster and reaches in for the pistol. He is hoping for a Browning or a Sig Sauer P226, or P230, but any reliable handgun will suffice.
    But there is no gun.
    He looks again thoroughly.
    Still no gun.
    It’s a standard SAS mini pack; even the boots are present. But there is definitely no gun in it. That would mean that Mason has removed the gun from the package… but why? Marshall runs a few scenarios through his mind, but can’t come up with any plausible explanation. He briefly considers calling the captain back to get Mason on the radio, but there is no point. If Mason has removed the gun, there must be a good reason. Perhaps he field tested it and it wasn’t accurate? Or maybe a condition of the exemplary favour the army is granting with the transportation is no armed civilians . He doesn’t know, but he has to keep going. It certainly won’t be the first time he’s headed into the unknown with just a knife.
    He finishes by lacing and tying off his boots. Tight, but not restrictive to ankle movement. He triple knots the laces, which is another ritual of his. He can imagine nothing worse than being killed because he has tripped over his own laces.
    Once fully dressed, he sits down to succumb to the memory of Saunders.
    He remembers the date clearly, it was the eighteenth of July 2007.
    The day before his mother’s seventieth birthday.

Chapter Five
    Marshall was twenty-nine when he received the call from the hospital four years previously.
    He snatched up the handset, and his life began to change.
    ‘Mr Marshall?’ the doctor asked gravely.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Son of Elizabeth Marshall?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘We need you to get to Hereford County hospital immediately. Your mother is in a very serious condition.’
    ‘What happened?’ Marshall asked.
    ‘We are unsure. She was brought in by ambulance following a call from a neighbour. If I didn’t know better, I would say it was the result of some sort of chemical attack.’
    ‘Anthrax?’ Marshall asked.
    ‘Those are the precautions we are currently taking.’
    ‘I’ll be there in twenty minutes,’ Marshall assured the doctor.
    ‘Sooner if possible,’ the doctor urged.
    Without hesitation Marshall grabbed his com link radio and called in an emergency 10-42: Escort required . The answer for a point to point escort was returned in seconds. Marshall gave his location as on-post , and the address of Hereford County hospital. Two Military Police vehicles arrived outside his door within three minutes, where Marshall was waiting in the car with the engine running.
    He arrived at the hospital a blurred and swift fifteen minute drive later. A nurse quickly identified him and escorted him to the contamination department. Marshall could just about make out his mother’s form from the doorway, and it broke his heart. She was in an isolation booth while doctors bustled around her wearing HazMat suits.
    She looked petrified.
    Marshall immediately asked the doctor for a suit and was denied. He asked again calmly, and was denied a second time. Then he asked to speak to the doctor in the corridor.
    Where he pulled out his gun.
    He stuck it low down in the doctor’s gut and kept their bodies close so that the gun would not be visible to anybody else.
    ‘Listen to me very carefully,’ he said softly. ‘You will find me a suit and a face mask. You will then remove everyone else from the isolation booth. You are scaring the shit out of an already