In the room the people come and go, the room is concrete, reinforced steel, halogen glare but the room beyond is where they come and go and the door is soundproofed with a porthole, like something from a submarine. My father took me aboard a Vanguard once when I was a child. The dark flickering halogen recesses were punctuated by glares of red bulbs. A space reminiscent of the one that I am in now, I tried to boost myself up onto a seat and scraped my leg on a tuft of leather that had not been studded down correctly, shoddy workmanship. A small boy in shorts in a uniformed mans space. Reed had disappeared to the lavatory upon our arrival at the facility and I assume that our delightful military escort was ensconced in some kind of holding area, preferably with a water cooler. Although in our current position there was air conditioning, which in of itself would be a worrying factor for anyone who knew about the minutiae of military funding. The managed climate made me very nervous but since his return from the toilets Reed seemed blissfully calm as he entered the room he gracefully landed himself in a chair opposite our hosts, the room was bizarrely luxurious in its decoration despite being in an underground bunker there was a Persian rug on the floor although the desk and chairs were standard issue, there was a seventies map on the wall, I knew it was seventies because I know that much about maps. It was a little crinkled but had been kept in remarkably good condition and was incongruous with the general impression that this position had just been built.
There were two men opposite us behind the bare desk, one white one middle eastern, if I had to guess I would say he was Iraqi but that was a wild guess.
‘Mind if I smoke?’ Reed asked nonchalantly.
‘Don’t be f*****g ridiculous.’ The possibly Iraqi man spat suddenly without raising his voice.
‘Why is that ridiculous?’ Reed replied veering his head around the room as if looking for some offending article that was preventing him from smoking.
‘Because this is a military facility and there is no smoking in military facilities.’ The man replied slowly.
‘This is not a military engagement however is it.’ Reed replied.
The other man coughed, I knew he was American before he spoke but I was surprised when he did interject.
‘Can we not do this please? I know nobody is particularly ecstatic about what we’re here to do today but let’s at least try and keep a veneer of respectability about the proceedings.’ East Coast money educated in England based on the way he spoke.
I don’t like the smell of this room and I know that it won’t be long before they turn their ire on me. It suddenly occurs to me to wonder why I’ve been brought here. But I’m not afraid. I’m still real world enough not to matter.
‘Meet the new lad, this is Hugh.’ Reed says.
‘You’re the statistician?’ The Iraqi says turning his gaze on me.
‘Yes, hello.’ I reply then I turn my eyes to the floor, I don’t want to engage more than I have to.
I reach for my bag and pull out my laptop, it has already been thoroughly checked over by three different people and had a special sticker stuck on it to get it to this point but the two men still clearly find it’s presence in the room offensive. I think about remarking that at least it’s not a Macintosh but not only is this joke not funny this particular crowd would be acutely unreceptive to it.
‘We have the data as hard copy.’ Iraqi remarks.
‘I have it presented in various different ways.’ I say placing the laptop on the desk between us and booting it up.
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