Orpheus returned to the bunker, parking the truck a discreet distance away, its green tarpaulin covered by the canopy of trees.
Orpheus carried the programmer’s unconscious body back into the bunker, deposited it back into the holding cell and then checked the computer room, eyes taking in the environment, searching for any damage.
Nothing had been touched. The monitors continued to display the countdown on the website, and on two side screens, floating bars of code pulsed out, like the LED lights on an amplifier, chronicling failed attacks on the website by the security services.
The rear room would need to be checked.
Orpheus walked to the end of the passageway and lifted the full-length boron suit from the steel peg on the wall. Two pairs of gloves – for inner and outer wear – lay on the stool nearby. The last piece of equipment, a full face-piece with self-contained breathing apparatus, dangled from a second peg.
It took several minutes to ensure the suit was on correctly and there were no breaches. When satisfied, Orpheus moved slowly to the door at the end of the passageway, which was vacuum-sealed and locked with a heavy metal bar that rested across the centre of the frame.
The bar was heavy, even for Orpheus, and opening it required launching a shoulder at the edge of the handle with considerable force. Once unlocked, the heavy door pushed open with a sigh, as if the room was reluctant to disclose its secrets.
Inside there were three rows of lead ingots, stacked high. Each one was the size of a child’s coffin, with industrially thick walls that were ribbed in ridges on the side.
Everything was secure.
Before leaving, Orpheus paused on the threshold of the door and listened. It was impossible to tell whether it was imagination or not, but at times Orpheus was sure the contents of the containers seemed to hum.