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I wasn't sure Jack did, but good on her for getting the reporters and cameramen, not to mention the Prime Minister himself, to notice Jack again.
The PM stared at Jack, his eyes narrowed, and then he pasted on a fake smile for the cameras.
"This is exactly what we were trying to avoid," the PM said. "We sent Mr Anderson in to sort things out at the Academy, but even he was unable to do what was required of him. It brings me no joy to say this, but we must enact the contingency plan Parliament has devised, and the House of Lords has agreed to under certain provisions now met, for just such an unfortunate situation." He looked mournful momentarily, and then he brightened. "RATS is to be dissolved as of immediately. Mr Anderson and his team must take responsibility for this debacle and will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. In time, the prestige of this facility will be rebuilt, but it has been proven that current methods lack order, discipline and respect for the citizens of this fine country. Time travel shall rise from the ashes better, stronger and more profitable than it has ever been. This government will not forget the people's wishes. We will deliver on our promises! And today, we start delivering!"
There was a smattering of applause, but I thought that was only from the PM's lackeys. Anderson looked shocked. The goon squad looked betrayed. But in short order, all of them were defanged by military-looking personnel brought in when the PM snapped his fingers.
"Jack," I said, uncertainly.
"Not quite what I expected, Mouse, but it does make sense."
"What about us?"
At that exact moment, the PM turned to look at us. It took a second or two, but the cameras finally panned toward us as well.
"Dr Evans," the PM said. "As acting Chief Surgeon of this former facility, you will supply a full report to Parliament on your actions this morning. Detailing why you have brought contemporaries from their time into ours. I needn't remind you, sir, that Anderson's may not be the only head to roll today."
Jack said nothing. I fidgeted at his side, my gaze flying over the crowd, looking for salvation. Finding none. Charles Crawford stood at parade rest beside us, and then he started to whistle. Not an appropriate thing for a soldier to do, right then.
All eyes turned toward him, so everyone missed the old man who hobbled into the hangar, his cane making near-silent thwacks as it came down on the concrete.
RATS personnel all parted for Dr Crawford. Some of them even started clapping, but he waved their enthusiastic greeting away. Finally, the reporters noticed the Chief Surgeon's appearance, followed a few seconds later by the PM himself.
"Now, now, Nigel," Clive Crawford said, his voice booming around the hangar. "Let's not get carried away, or a more prestigious head than one of ours may indeed be rolling before the end of the day."
"You!" the PM said, spluttering.
Clive came to a stop slap bang in the middle of the showdown; Rafe, Dean, Sally and Bryan all moved through the crowd to cover his back. They all looked formidable. They all looked ready for this, whatever the hell this was.
Crawford smiled. It was a little chilling.
"Let me tell you a story," he said to the reporters.
And a camera flashed in welcome, followed by another, and another, and another, until the hangar at RATS lit up like a storm cloud.
