“Security rating? Listen Major, I don’t give a damn about forms, security ratings or your entire shit-kicking army right now. I just want to know what happened to Tom and what you’re doing to get him back.” Arms folded across her chest, Aimee glared at Major Hammerson, hoping he wouldn’t see that her hands were shaking. Alfred rolled his eyes and, as if conducting an orchestra, tried to make “calm down” motions to her from across the table.

The Major regarded Aimee coolly for a full twenty seconds before responding. “Dr. Weir, I work for the government, that’s no secret. I also work for the United States military machine, that’s also no secret. But we have a lot more in common than you realise.” Hammerson paused, pinning Aimee with his unblinking stare. “You see, Dr. Weir, we own GBR. We fund your research. If we like what we see we extend your grants. We give you what you need; we even put the choc chip cookies in your little blue jar at work.”

Hammerson’s voice went up a level. “We own GBR, we own you, and we own over fifty companies similar to yours across the country and some in other countries as well. Like it or not, Dr. Weir, you also work for the shit-kicking army. And while you’ve lost contact with Dr. Hensen, I’ve lost contact with almost thirty good men and women, some with families, goddammit.”

Aimee opened and closed her mouth, anger morphing back into fear and confusion; she wanted to respond but didn’t know how.

“The known worldwide reserves of gas and oil are estimated at about one hundred and forty-two billion tons, and with current rates of usage will last only another fifty years. But with China and India’s thirst for oil growing exponentially, our prediction is we have reserves for just twenty-five more years,” Hammerson continued. “The fact is your additional funding request is a foregone conclusion. We are thirsty creatures, Dr. Weir, and even if you’d walked into the room with all your clothes on backwards and asked to use the NASA space shuttle for the next round of electromagnetic mapping, we probably would have funded it.”

Aimee felt the Major let her off the hook as his penetrative stare relaxed and his voice lost its hard edge. “We need your help, Dr. Weir, to find out what happened to Dr. Hendsen, and to the other civilian scientists and medical team members that vanished down there with him.”

Aimee sank down in her chair. Not trusting her voice she simply nodded. Hammerson slid the non-disclosure forms across the table and continued with his briefing.