by AJ Frazer
As he wrote—the novelty of using pen and ink as opposed to a keyboard not lost on him—the piercing ring of his landline jolted him back to the present.
“Hello,” he answered.
“Dominic, this is Susan Hale. I thought you should know, we apprehended Zhen Daiyu and have her in custody.”
“Where is she? I trust you’re not handing her off to the CIA?”
“No. She is en route to Vauxhall Cross as we speak. She was picked up in Hong Kong last night.”
“Does she know anything? Remember it was her who alerted me to Sagen’s plan. She didn’t want any of this.” Dominic didn’t want to entertain the possibility that Zhen had been part of the plan all along. He couldn’t rule out the fact that she had been instrumental in luring him to Sagen’s Australian base, so that he would be forced to release the article on Sagen.
“Yes, well, her guilt or otherwise is irrelevant at the moment. The only thing that matters is can she help to stop it?”
“I’m sure she will be cooperative.”
“I would like you to come and speak to her.”
“Me? I’m not sure I—”
“She asked for you. Said she’d only speak to you. We don’t have time to waste.”
Dominic was genuinely surprised. “All right, I’m on my way.”
Despite everything that was happening, a part of him was looking forward to seeing Zhen again. Was it puerile to think that there was something between them, especially amid such a crisis? What the hell, thought Dominic, the heart wants what the heart wants.
Dominic drove to London alone. While the Ferrari was a nostalgic distraction, it was soul-crushingly unreliable. He decided to take his chances with the modern electronics of his Range Rover. Alex had removed the 5G SIM card that connect it to the internet so it, theoretically, was Biblical proof now. Just a bit less of a smart car.
As he rounded Wandsworth Road, not far from MI6 Headquarters, he was confronted by a large, aggressive crowd of protesters. The scene was chaotic: red-tinged smoke flares billowed, air horns blared, placards bobbed above the crowd, and burning cars littered the street. Ironic that the environmental greenies had protested like this for decades and no one had taken them seriously. Now it was the capitalists and the consumers who were up in arms. White-collar protesters, the politically nonchalant, the so-called Generation-i (a reference to the interactive generation, though Dominic thought it was a more accurate reference to their self-obsession), even the hard-working middle class who only ever looked out for themselves … they were all rabid with frustration and fear. Irony had a wicked sense of humor sometimes. The hardcore environmentalists were probably delighting in the fact that they had got what they wanted or at least what they dreamed could happen. The were probably celebrating, drinking kombucha and dancing around trees with biodynamic tofu roasting nearby.
Pulling to a stop just behind the crowd, he could see rocks arcing through the air toward the checkpoint. This was it. This was the point at which social patience ran out. This was when people took matters into their own hands. When empires crumbled.
As he sat there contemplating how else to get to the MI6 building, he noticed that it wasn’t just rocks being lobbed toward the checkpoint now; Molotov cocktails sailed overhead. Then there were loud whooshes and flames as they struck the ground and exploded.
“Bloody hell,” mumbled Dominic, leaning forward over the steering wheel.
The mess of people surged forward toward the military blockade. Then just as suddenly the crowd turned and started running back in his direction. Placards were tossed aside as pandemonium ensued and the stampede bore down on him. Quickly putting the car in reverse, Dominic floored the big SUV. The electric motor roared and whined as the car hurtled down the road.
Thinking he was far enough away to turn around, he slowed, turned ninety degrees, and stopped before putting it in drive. He was about to floor it when he looked out of his side window and saw the crowd scatter.
Then the shooting began.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Dominic was stunned. He stared out the window at the insanity unfolding in front of him. The soldiers had opened fire on the protesters! People were being shot—and not with rubber bullets. Their bodies slammed into the road, still and lifeless. The crowd had all but dispersed and yet the soldiers continued to shoot. What the hell were they thinking? It was turning into a massacre.
Dominic had been involved in such things in far-flung, war-torn countries where shootings and violence were commonplace.
But not London.
Never at home.
The reality of what was happening finally hit him.
He resisted the urge to drive off and seek safety somewhere far away. Instead, he opened the door and climbed out quickly. “Over here! Take cover over here!” he yelled at the people running down the road as he ran around the back of the Range Rover to shield himself. Bullets punctured the side, pinging loudly. The cracks of the assault rifles echoed off the buildings. People slid and stumbled in behind the SUV. Dominic continued to yell at others to take cover.
Sheltering behind the car, Dominic couldn’t see the carnage going on behind him but a young man in black skinny jeans and a checked flannel shirt ran into view. He was making his escape until his body lurched and arched before he went down hard on the road. Dominic didn’t even think—he just ran out in a low crouch. Reaching the man, he scooped up his left arm and dragged him back behind the SUV.
“You! Black T-shirt!” he yelled at a young woman cowering behind the rear wheel. “Help me!” She didn’t hesitate and crawled frantically to where he crouched beside the front wheel. He tore the man’s shirt open to reveal an oozing puncture in the right side of his stomach. “Check the rest of his body. See if there are any other bullet wounds.” She nodded quickly and ran her shaking hands around the man’s body, searching for signs of bleeding or injury.
“I … I can’t see anything else,” she said in a clipped Chelsea accent.
“Give me your T-shirt!” He held out one hand while the other kept pressure on the man’s wound. Momentary indignation flashed across her face before she quickly realized why he needed it. She pulled it off and threw it to him. Dominic used it to put further pressure directly on the wound.
“He needs to get to a hospital. Now.”
She nodded wordlessly, eyes wide in shock.
“Let’s roll him onto his side and check the entry wound, but keep your head down!” They rolled him over and Dominic inspected the damage. He took his shirt off, bunched it up and placed it on the wound before laying him on his back again. The man was moaning intermittently in a semi-conscious state.
“What’s your name?” Dominic asked her.
“Sarah,” she replied quickly.
“All right, Sarah, you need to keep pressure on here. I’m going to fetch help and get this guy to hospital. Just stay with him and apply pressure. OK?”
She nodded, taking Dominic’s place next to the injured man.
Dominic stuck his head up to look through the passenger-side window of the Range Rover. Remarkably, the windows were all intact. The soldiers had stopped shooting and were walking down the street grouped in formation. Sirens wailed in the distance. Ambulances, Dominic hoped.
He held his hands high in the air as the soldiers drew nearer, raising himself slowly in a half crouch. The soldiers saw him and ordered him to come out from behind the car and get on his knees with his hands behind his head. He complied slowly, not wanting to give a jumpy young private a reason to shoot first and dispense with questions altogether.
“There’s a wounded man behind my car!” he called to the approaching soldiers, nodding toward the Range Rover with his head.
“Get down on the ground!” yelled a soldier, operating in a high-adrenaline state.
Dominic eased himself down slowly, his head turned to the side, cheek resting on the filthy road. “I’m Dominic Elliston. I’ve been asked to report to MI6 this morning by Susan
Hale! I just got caught up in all this as I approached!” he called out.
The soldier still had the rifle trained on Dominic as he walked over. “I need a check in the visitor log for a Dominic Elliston, scheduled to arrive this morning,” he said into a microphone secured to the top of his chest. Then he called out to another group of soldiers and directed them to the wounded man behind Dominic’s car.
“All right, you’re cleared, sir. You need to get inside quickly before these terrorists decide to come back,” said the soldier.
“Terrorists? They’re not terrorists, for fucksake! You lot just shot ordinary citizens who are shit bloody scared of what’s going on.”
It was as if the soldier was deaf. He completely ignored Dominic’s point. “Is your car drivable, sir?”
“What, after you riddled it with bullets?”
“Let’s take a look-see, shall we?”
Dominic was enraged at how cheerful the soldier sounded.
Walking back to the Range Rover, he surveyed the carnage. Blood on the streets of London. He’d seen worse in the hellholes of the Middle East and Eastern Europe, but never expected it at all here, on home soil. He found an old polo shirt in the boot, which he pulled over his head before getting in. Hitting the start button, the dashboard came to life in a pulsing blue glow, indicating that it was working and ready to move.
“British cars, sir, built to take a round or two,” said the soldier with a smirk.
“Unlike British people. You just opened fire on civilians on British soil.”
The soldier looked around sheepishly to see if there were any of his squaddies within earshot. “Look, I don’t think the boys are proud of what happened here, sir, but we’re under the strictest orders to maintain the integrity of all critical buildings and infrastructure. In case you didn’t notice, they were lobbing Molotov cocktails at us.”
“Still, an extreme response, don’t you think?”
“Nothing extreme about following orders, sir.”
“So said the guards at Auschwitz,” said Dominic, driving off with a sideways glance at the soldier.
The security checkpoint took longer to get through, but once he was past the barricade, it was much the same as the last visit. Hale came and met him at the entrance and they headed straight to the interview room where Zhen was being questioned.
Dominic walked alongside Hale. “I assume you’re aware that people are being shot outside your barricade?”
“Yes, I saw. Bloody awful.”
“It will only get worse as people realize that the government can’t solve the issue.”
“We’re quite aware of that, Mr. Elliston,” replied Hale, irritated.
“So what are you doing to mitigate the looming carnage?”
“I’m not at liberty to say. Particularly to you, whose media company is the only one still running.”
He stopped walking. “Oh, please, we’re beyond that, surely? I’ve been keeping secrets for you lot since all this mess started.”
Hale glanced around the corridor. She patted the air with her palms down, trying to placate Dominic and not arouse interest from anyone passing. “That is true,” she said quietly. “However, my superiors don’t see you as someone they should trust implicitly. I think the CIA have been in their ears and they’re starting to wonder if perhaps you’ve been playing both sides.”
“Are you bloody serious? You convinced me to go see Sagen. You wanted me to try to stop him. And now you dare suggest that I’m responsible for this mess?”
Hale’s face seemed to relax into an earnest, conceding expression. “Dominic, I know that, and I have expressed all of this to the powers that be. But the establishment is getting desperate now. And, of course, given that you control Jagged Edge, it makes you look––at the very least––like a colluder.”
“Well, they’re wasting their time if they think I can help them stop it.”
“Come on, let’s deal with Ms. Daiyu first and then discuss your situation.”
Dominic looked suspiciously at Hale. “You better not be setting me up.”
“We’re not and have no intention to do so. You have my word—”
“The word of a spy? You lot are professional liars!”
“Look, if anyone is being set up around here, it’ll be me. I’ll be the scapegoat, OK?”
He paused a moment. “An absolute hornets’ nest, aren’t you?”
“Tell me about it.”
An expressionless man in a gray suit, white shirt, and no tie stood outside a door and opened it as Hale and Dominic approached. Hale went in first. Inside, Zhen Daiyu was handcuffed to a stainless-steel bar bolted to the metal table, which itself was bolted to the floor. There were no windows in the room, only a one-way mirror opposite her.
As Dominic walked in, his eyes locked onto Zhen’s. She looked frail, terrified, and exhausted. Her expression brightened upon seeing him enter the room.
Dominic felt adolescent sort of giddiness. Seeing her seemed to wash away the horror of recent events. The shift in her expression caused him to forget about the dire nature of Biblical and the carnage it was creating.
He wanted to hold her, to while away an afternoon in an old English countryside pub with her, to eat breakfast with her, watch movies together, and spend a weekend in bed, alone with her. But all that was fantasy, and for all he really knew it was a partisan one at that. He was only going by the most subtle of cues that she had any interest in him. Besides, what made it an utterly childish fantasy was the fact that she was in an MI6 interrogation suite and may never see the light of day ever again.
“Dominic! Thank God! Can you please tell these people that I warned you and asked for your help to stop Victor?” said Zhen breathlessly.
Dominic and Hale sat down opposite Zhen. “Ms. Daiyu,” Hale began, “Mr. Elliston is here because he is concerned for your welfare and the fact that you have not been forthcoming with information in relation to Biblical.”
“I’ve told you everything!” A flash of anger erased any trace of frailty.
Dominic beckoned Hale to let him speak. “Zhen, look, I know you wanted to stop him. Thanks to you I was able to try. Not that it did any good. I don’t think there was much any of us could have done. By the time I saw him, it was already too late. But now, if we don’t stop Biblical, things will get far worse.”
“I don’t know how to stop it. I’d tell you if I did. As far as I know, there is no way to stop it. That was what Victor always talked about. He wanted to ensure it was completely autonomous, that it could defend itself.”
“OK,” said Dominic. “Take us back to the beginning. When did work start on Biblical?”
Zhen took a deep breath and sighed. “Are these really necessary?” She lifted her wrists, and the handcuffs scraped loudly in the deadened atmosphere of the enclosed space. Hale motioned for the guard standing against the wall to relieve Zhen of the cuffs.
“So, a CIA man came to Victor nearly three years ago—”
“Wait a minute! CIA?” exclaimed Dominic.
“Well, ex-CIA. He was in the cyber offense program––cy-ops they called it––and had been developing cutting edge weaponry for the government. He was on the front line of it all. Anyway, he became very bitter about the way the US government had treated the intelligence community. Being the son of Indian immigrants, he was also frustrated at the way the government had systematically insulated the United States in a nationalist drive. Not only that, but the way the new administration shut down all the key environmental initiatives and reversed the climate-change policy. This guy, they called him Saint George, for some reason—”
Dominic snorted and smiled at the irony. He also realized that perhaps he’d seen this Saint George person. Twice! At the camp on the steps of one of the wooden huts and on the Eclipse Horizon. The others looked at him expectantly.
He considered telling them that he’d seen him, but he didn’t see the point now and he couldn’t be sure it was the same person. “Wh
at?” said Dominic. “The soldier who maintained his allegiance to his beliefs when the government leaders changed their minds on the environment and the intelligence world.”
Zhen and Hale stared blankly.
Dominic expanded. “St. George, the dragon slayer. He was killed because the king dictated that he should no longer be a Christian. St. George refused and so he was tortured and killed for sticking to his beliefs.”
“Right,” Zhen continued. “Well, George gave Victor the keys to Biblical. Together they were able to assemble a team of engineers and programmers who were committed to creating Biblical and the promise of what they thought it could do for humanity.”
“Christ, no wonder the CIA were so intent on questioning Sagen themselves and ensuring that he never left that ship alive,” said Dominic.
“They were covering their arses,” said Hale, putting it together.
“That’s right,” said Zhen. “Kind of puts WikiLeaks into context, right? I mean George was the real brains behind it all. Victor bankrolled him and ensured that he was kept safe and out of the way. He also pressed the button to release Biblical, something none of the others wanted to do.”
“So, Zhen, where is he?”
“Who?”
“George, of course!” shouted Hale, slamming her hand onto the table.
Zhen jolted with shock, as did Dominic.
“I don’t know! I only met him once and Victor never told me where he was.”
Hale’s face was flushed. “Don’t you fuck with me! If we don’t find this man, we’re going to be meeting Armageddon very soon.”
Dominic continued more calmly. “People are being shot out there, Zhen. Normal people, innocent people. Shot on the streets. I saw it myself, just now, and this is only the beginning. The fabric of society has been stretched thin, the fractures are appearing, and as they get bigger, blood will be on our hands.”
“If I knew, I’d tell you, I promise,” she implored.
“What if you had to guess? Where would you guess he could be?” asked Dominic encouragingly.