“We need to get to the puppet master. We need to get to John Tremaine.”
- Chapter 44 -
Operation Foxhole
Harper blinked a few times, trying to focus on one point of the ceiling. His limbs seemed heavy and he felt like he had to remind himself to breathe in and out. The sound of a distant drum banged sporadically in the back of his head. Or was it in the room? I don’t know. There were screams, people in pain and people dying, close by, maybe outside the door. He braced himself for another injection as the light in the corner clicked on and the door slid open. The smell of smoke followed footsteps into the room. Heads with black masks and Perspex visors crowded around the table, looking down at him, their muffled shouts lost in the chaos.
“This is him, let’s go….”
The metal clamps were released and his limbs freed from their shackles. The men swept him out of the room and into the corridor. A guard riddled with bullet holes was slumped against the wall outside. Harper clapped his hand over his mouth as the smoke got thicker. Sharp pains in his ankles made it hard to move forward. There were men behind him and in front of him, whisking him along in an efficient column. A scream pierced the air, followed by copycat howls from the other cells. Horrible sounds of madness and pain. He thought of trying to double back, but he was too weak to fight off his captors. He’d have to take his chances. They passed through several sets of mangled security doors, blown open with explosives, emerged briefly into the open air and sprinted across a walkway enclosed with metal fencing. The fresh air cleared Harper’s senses a little. There were five men with him, all heavily-armed. Grenades bounced off the belt of the man in front. They jumped through the door at the other end of the walkway and plunged back into the darkness. The group slowed down as they came to the start of a long corridor and crept forward in a crouched position. An explosion of automatic rifle fire sent them scurrying back to cover. Harper was shoved to the floor next to a water dispenser.
“Flashbangs and smoke, Go!”
The men at the front bowled the devices down the corridor and snapped back round the corner as more bullets whizzed towards them. An explosion of light bounced around the corridor and the acrid smoke percolated across the ceiling and downwards. The masked man next to Harper threw himself onto his stomach and scuttled off into the smoke with his gun prone in front of him. There were several short volleys of fire and he gave the all-clear signal to the rest of the group.
“Move.”
They picked Harper back up and ran through the smoke-filled corridor, past the dead guard. Blood slopped out of a wound in his chest onto the white floor. They pushed on through a few more security doors and burst out into a wooded area. Harper looked back at the entrance to the facility; a well-camouflaged bunker jutting out from the ground. The bodies of dead guards were strewn around, the aftermath of the firefight to gain entrance. They jogged along for around half a mile before coming to a line of military jeeps parked up in the trees.
“Who are you?” said Harper, as one of the men threw some clothes in his direction. “Where are we going?”
“Wait for the briefing,” said a voice from behind one of the masks.
The motorcade roared off down the road. As the adrenaline wore off, the remains of the drugs in Harper’s system kicked back in and his eyelids started to droop. He gave in and closed them completely.
“Good job people. Let’s get this guy to the finish line.”
- Chapter 45 -
A New Beginning
Alpha spotted Varndon through the crowd and raised his newspaper. They walked down the busy east London street in silence until they reached the local market. The throaty tones of Arabic, Urdu and Hindi fought for prominence in the market’s tight enclaves and the strong smell of fish filled their nostrils. Alpha stopped to look at some of the produce, before ignoring the sales patter and moving on.
“They’re laughing at us William, these people.”
“I tend to ignore these parts of London,” replied Varndon.
They walked on further into the market, the jangly sounds of bhangra accompanying their footsteps. Alpha brushed an empty cigarette packet from a bench and sat down. “It’s places like this where our wars should be fought. This is the frontline now.”
Varndon snorted. “You know the Head Girl’s opinion. She prefers to try to ‘understand’ these fucking jihadi bastards for some reason.”
“She’s out William.”
“What? When?”
“As of today. And that incompetent fool over at MI5. You’re looking at the new head of an amalgamated security services.”
“John…”
“And I’m going to need a number two. I want you next to me at the top.”
“I don’t know what to say, I’m flattered.”
“Say yes.”
“Okay, yes.”
“Come on let’s walk.” They stood up and walked further through the market. A group of young North Africans sat outside a café, laughing loudly and smoking hookah. The café owner hung around the entrance to the door, watching passersby and inviting them inside.
“This is what we’ve been waiting for William.”
“It’s what the country’s been waiting for. What the country needs.”
Alpha stopped at an Islamic bookstall and picked up some pamphlets. He flicked through the pages and gave some money to the young boy standing behind the counter. “How can it be that this garbage is legally sold on our streets? Why are people not in jail for buying this poison?”
“Because they’re all fucking cowards.”
The stalls began to thin out and they turned a corner onto a canal towpath. Alpha stiffened at the sight of a homeless man sat under the bridge just ahead of them. He had Indian or possibly Sri Lankan features and held his hand out as they walked past, encouraging them to place some money in a small cup.
“Where are you from?” said Alpha, bending down, but not getting too close.
“Please, please.” The man smiled widely and pointed to the cup.
“This is just it William. The shittiest aspects of empire on our own doorstep.”
The man squealed as Alpha stepped back and drove a foot into his head. As he tried to scramble to his feet, Varndon produced a knife from his inside pocket and thrust it into the man’s temple. They watched as his limbs flailed around and waited for his last movement. As soon as he had stopped moving, Alpha threw the pamphlets down on top of him.
“There’ll be no more bowing down to the terrorists or the criminals or the extremist homosexuals that pollute our streets William. I’m going to restore order to this broken country. Restore its integrity.”
Varndon shot a short look back to check there was no one around. “You need to think about the media. They’ll fight you, and they’ll infect the public with their bleeding heart nonsense.”
Alpha grunted. “We’ll give the public a reason to be courageous.”
“How so?”
“Terrorists are not the only ones that find bombs useful. We’ll hit a major city. Probably something chemical. The sight of thousands of British citizens reduced to vegetables should be enough to persuade the less enthusiastic.”
“What can I do?”
“I want to you coordinate the aftermath. There’ll be an immediate clampdown: domestic renditions; new restraints on the media; quarantine zones for dangerous elements. We come down hard when the fury is greatest.”
“I won’t let you down John.”
“The Foreign Secretary will make a speech tomorrow to announce my appointment. I’d like you to be there.”
“Of course.”