Head straight for the cat-walk.
Without warning, dozens of ropes slithered from the second chopper which Drake now realised must be an Apache hybrid: a machine modified to house multiple crew-members.
Masked men descended the swaying lines, disappearing behind the cat-walk. Drake noticed guns strapped across their chests as a wary hush began to spread through the crowd. The last voices were those of children asking why, but soon even they went quiet.
Then the lead Apache unleashed a Hellfire missile into one of the empty shops. There was a hiss like a million gallons of steam escaping, then a roar like the meeting of two Dinosaurs. Fire, glass and fragmented brick exploded high across the square.
Ben dropped his mobile in shock and scrambled to retrieve it. Drake heard the screaming rise like a tidal wave and sensed the mob instinct grip the crowd. Without a moment’s thought he grabbed Ben and manhandled him over the railing, then vaulted over himself. They landed next to the cat-walk.
The Apache’s Chain Gun rang out, deep and deadly, its rounds fired above the crowd but still invoking pure panic.
“Ben! Stay close behind me.” Drake raced around the foot of the cat-walk. A few of the models reached down to help. Drake gained his feet and looked back over the surging mass of people stampeding towards the exits. Dozens were clambering onto the cat-walk, being helped by models and staff. Terrified screams laced the air, causing the panic to spread. Fire lit the dark, and the heavy thunk of helicopter rotors drowned out most of the tumult.
The Chain Gun rang out again, sending heavy lead into the air with a nightmare sound no civilian anywhere should ever hear.
Drake turned. Models cowered behind him. Odin’s Shield was in front of him. On impulse he risked a few snaps just as soldiers in bullet-proof jackets appeared from backstage. Drake’s first concern was to position himself between Ben, the models and the soldiers, but he kept clicking, narrowing the viewfinder….
With his other hand he pushed his young lodger further away.
“Hey!”
One of the soldiers eyeballed him and swung his machine-gun around threateningly. Drake quelled a feeling of disbelief. This kind of thing didn’t happen in York, in this world. York was tourists, ice-cream and American day-trippers. It was the lion that had never been allowed to roar, not even when Rome ruled. But it was safe and it was prudent. It was the place Drake had chosen to get away from the damn SAS in the first place.
To be with his wife. To escape the… bollocks!
The soldier was suddenly in his face. “Give me that!” he screamed in a German accent. “Give it to me!”
The soldier lunged for the camera. Drake chopped at his forearm and twisted his machine-gun away. Surprise lit the soldier’s face. Drake palmed the camera off to Ben behind his back with a move any New York maitre d’ would have been proud of. Heard him move away at a sprint.
Drake pointed the machine-gun at the floor as three more soldiers started towards him.
“You!” One of the soldiers raised his weapon. Drake half-closed his eyes, but then heard a raucous shout.
“Wait! Minimal casualties, idiot. You really want to shoot someone in cold blood on national television?”
The new soldier nodded at Drake. “Give me the camera.” His German pronunciation carried a lazy twang.
Drake thought ‘Plan B’ and let the gun clatter to the floor. “Don’t have it.”
The commander nodded to his subordinates. “Check him.”
“There was someone else…” the first soldier picked up his gun, looking embarrassed. “He… he’s gone.”
The commander stepped right up in Drake’s face. “Bad move.”
A muzzle pressed against his forehead. His vision was filled with angry German and flying spittle. “Check him!”
As they frisked him he watched the orchestrated theft of Odin’s Shield under the direction of a newly-arrived masked individual wearing a white suit. Somewhat ostentatiously, he waved and scratched his head, but never spoke. Once the Shield was safely away the man waved a walkie in Drake’s general direction, clearly attracting the commander’s attention.
The commander placed his own walkie to his ear, but Drake kept his eyes on the man in white.
“’til Paris,” the man mouthed. “At six tomorrow.”
SAS training, Drake reflected, still came in handy.
The commander said, “Dah.” and was back in Drake’s face, brandishing his credit cards and photographer’s credentials. “Lucky snapper,” he drawled lazily. “The boss says minimal casualties, so you live. ‘But,’ he waved Drake’s wallet, “we have your address, and if you talk,” he added, flashing a smile colder than a polar bear’s scrotum, “trouble will find you.”
TWO
Later, at home, Drake handed Ben a filtered decaf and joined him to watch coverage of the night’s events.
Odin’s Shield had been stolen because the city of York simply hadn’t been prepared for such a violent onslaught. The real miracle was that no one had died. The burning helicopters were found miles away, abandoned where three motorways converged, their occupants long gone.
“Ruined Frey’s show,” Ben said, partly serious. “The models are already packed up and gone.”
“Damn, and I changed the bed sheets. Well, I’m sure Frey and Prada and Gucci will survive.”
“The Wall of Sleep would’ve played through it all.”
“Been doing the family movie-fest Titanic thing again?”
“That reminds me — they cut my dad off in mid-flow.”
Drake topped his mug off. “Don’t worry. He’ll ring back in three minutes or so.”
“Making fun, crusty?”
Drake shook his head and laughed. “No. You’re just too young to understand.”
Ben had been lodging with Drake for about nine months now. They had grown from strangers to good friends in a few months. Drake subsidised Ben’s rent in return for his photographic knowledge — the young man was on his way to a college degree — and Ben helped by sharing everything. He was the kind of guy who wore his feelings on his sleeve, a sign of innocence maybe, but admirable too.
Ben put down his mug. “Night, mate. Guess I’ll go ring sis.”
“Night.”
The door closed, and Drake sat watching Sky News sightlessly for a while. When a picture of Odin’s Shield appeared he started back to the present.
He picked up the camera that represented his livelihood, pocketed the memory card with a mind to view the pictures tomorrow, and then headed for the whirring PC. Having second thoughts he paused to double-check the doors and windows. This house had been safe-proofed years ago whilst he was still in the army. He liked to believe in the rudimentary good of every human being, but one thing war taught you was never to put blind trust in anything. Always have a plan and a back-up — a Plan B.
Seven years on, and now he knew the soldier’s mentality would never leave him.
He Googled ‘Odin’, and ‘Odin’s Shield’. The wind picked up outside the house, rushing around the eaves and wailing like an investment banker who’d had his bonus capped at four mil. He soon realised the Shield was big news. It had been a major archaeological find, the biggest ever in Iceland. Some Indiana Jones types had strayed off the beaten track to investigate an ancient ice flow. A few days later they unearthed the Shield, but then one of Iceland’s largest volcanoes started rumbling and further exploration had to be postponed.