The Fourth Bear полностью

Jack and Mary drove into the car park at SommeWorld a half hour later and parked in front of the theme park’s buildings. Most of the visitors’ center was finished, but the roof had yet to go on to the auditorium, and the canteen hadn’t even been started. Builders were toiling around the clock in order for the construction to be over by Christmas. That was four months away, but there was still a lot to do. Two years behind schedule and ten years in the planning, the bizarre theme park was the longtime personal dream of the Quangle-Wangle, the reclusive industrialist, computer and shipping billionaire whose own experiences on the Somme had been the basis of what he called “the only safe real-life war experience in the world.”

They parked the car, entered the impressive dome-roofed visitors’ center and were directed up the stairs to the park operations center. They walked along the partially finished corridors until they found the correct door, and Mary pressed the entry buzzer. She stuck an index finger in her ear and waggled it.

“I don’t know how those explosions work, but the concussion is for real. One went off a couple of yards from me, and I felt my ears pop like a champagne cork.”

The door opened to reveal a young man of about twenty with a goatee and matching SommeWorld T-shirt and baseball cap. He looked at them both in turn.

“Can I help you guys?”

“Police,” said Mary. “We want to see whoever’s in charge.”

“Sure,” said the young man, leading them into the spacious control room perched on the upper floors of the visitors’ center.

“What’s this all about? Someone complaining about the noise again?”

Inside the room were a dozen or so Quang-6000 computers with technicians hunched over them, doubtless trying to debug whatever problems with which SommeWorld was beset. In front of the consoles, a large window assured the operators an unimpaired view across the battlefield. As they watched, a flight of low-flying Sopwith Camels buzzed across the smoking battlefield and three separate explosions went off near the ruined church.

“No, no, no,” said the supervisor into a microphone. “We can’t get away with a simulated bombing run unless we actually drop something. Land and we’ll try something else.”

“Mr. Haig?” said Jack and Mary’s guide quite timidly. “The police would like a word.”

Haig looked up and strode over. His manner was abrupt but helpful.

“Good afternoon, Officers.” He caught sight of Mary’s tattered state. “My goodness! What happened to you?”

“I’m DS Mary Mary, head of Reading’s NCD, and this is Inspector Spratt. I want you to shut down the park.”

Haig knew better than to ask why. The park was a legal nightmare over public liability, and everyone had been told to cooperate fully with authority. He turned to the operators. “Code-red shutdown, disarm all air mortars.”