“As we expected.”
“Yes, ma’am, but in the follow-up – Clermont’s officers – I’m afraid that we lost a good many of them as well.”
“How many is a good many?”
“All.”
“That is a good many,” she sighed in reply. “Did we at least take any of their heads?”
“The witch,” Number Two responded happily.
“That’s all?”
“That’s nothing to be sniffed at, ma’am. She was one of their more powerful allies, after all; without her they are now almost a spent force.”
“They still have him,” she spat back quickly. “Don’t forget, Number Two, that his dark magic made them in the first place. Who’s to say that he won’t simply make more?”
“He hasn’t shown any signs of such an endeavour as yet, ma’am. No reason to think why he should.”
“Because we pressed him, Number Two,” Cynthia said thoughtfully as she considered her enemy. “What about the rest of the operation?”
“Proceeding on schedule, ma’am. News coverage is now completely under our supervision. The few outlets that we don’t directly control are now starting to follow the path that we have laid down. The message is strong now, ma’am… unbreakable, in fact.”
“We have trapped the rats in a corner now, Number Two, but don’t ever lose your respect for them, for him. Our enemy is still to be feared, don’t you ever forget that. Hubris is a dangerous trait, trust me.”
“Well social media is now running wild with conspiracy tales of the Queen’s Guard. Our own algorithms are driving content and shaping young minds to follow our… excuse me, your word.”
“The word is not mine, Number Two. I am simply a vessel, nothing more, nothing less. Mine is a sacred duty but it is God’s kingdom of glory, Number Two. His, and his alone.”
“But may we bask in its light?” Number Two added with reverence.
“Quite so, my child. There is never any shame in taking pride in one’s work. After all, we are quite literally doing God’s work.” She smiled, feeling a sense of calm and order return slowly to her being.
Her mind had been scattered of late and it was hard to maintain a firm grip right now. She wasn’t actually sure how she’d returned from the devil’s lair back to her own sanctuary; one minute she’d been on the battlefield front line , the next she’d been staggering into Wolfbane unaware of just how she’d returned.
The one thing she hated more than any other was a lack of clarity. Her entire soul resonated with purpose and direction; to be unsure at any single moment rocked her to her core.
The trouble with being a leader was that her inner circle was small, her group of trusted disciples was smaller, and individuals with whom she could share her most secret thoughts and concerns with were non-existent.
“The men that we lost?” she asked warily.
“Ma’am?”
“How?” she asked, fighting to keep her temper in check at having to essentially ask the same question twice.
“Unclear as yet, ma’am,” Number Two replied slowly. “But…”
“But?”
“Well, ma’am, the clean-up crew… well…”
“Spit it out!” she snapped, feeling her blood start to boil again with frustration as twin ice picks of pain began to stab behind her eyes.
“Well early word, and it is just the early word, they’re not sure what killed the men. There is some talk of a… well, a kind of animal attack.”
“Animal attack?”
“Yes, ma’am. Some of the men well…, well to be honest, they were kind of… torn apart. Does… does he have that capability? I mean, I’ve read all of the material at hand on them, but I have never come across anything quite like that.”
Cynthia considered the question for a long silent moment, oblivious to the man’s waiting presence next to her. She knew that the devil had many powers, as did his minions, but an animal attack? One that ripped people apart? That was new to her and she didn’t like surprises.
“Any survivors?” she asked hopefully.
“No, ma’am, no survivors, no witnesses, other than the escapees, of course.”
“Have arrest warrants be issued yet?”
“Imminent.”
She looked up in surprise at that.
“Imminent? What does that mean?”
“Soon, ma’am.”
“I know what the bloody word means!” she barked irritably. “Why have they not been issued already?”
“The prime minister is dragging his feet a little, to be truthful, ma’am. Perhaps what with the election on the horizon, he might be testing to see which way the wind is blowing before making his decision?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?” she exclaimed, suddenly feeling a migraine starting to brew inside her head making the cranium feel two sizes too small.
“I can’t say for sure, ma’am.”
“Then find out,” she replied in a voice so tiny that Number Two had to lean in to hear her. “Of course,” Number Two finished with a bow before leaving her and heading for the door. “Oh, one more thing, ma’am,” he said.
“What?” she asked, clenching her fists tightly enough for her fingernails to draw crescent-shaped blood in her palms.
“We have Mr Buckley waiting to see you.”
“Take him to the hall and assemble the others there,” she ordered before dismissing him with a waft of her hand.
It took a few moments but eventually she regained control over her senses with some deep and heavy breathing exercises designed to slow her mind and body while she placed two hands firmly on the wheel again.
On paper, her plans were working almost perfectly, but that one word, almost, gave her pause. She was a fastidious woman by nature and almost was not good enough, not when the stakes were so high. The entire world was at stake and that was no exaggeration. If she failed, then humanity would be condemned to the fiery pits of hell; in short, she could not fail. She would not.
She left the chapel once she was sure of her absolute self-control. It would never do for her disciples to see anything other than her perfection.
While the village of Wolfbane had been long abandoned since after the flood, several of the buildings were still standing, albeit most of them badly damaged.
It was a peaceful place, the sort of place where the dead walked amongst the living and the two lived harmoniously together despite their differences.
The echoes of the past were strong here. As she walked, she could almost hear the voices of the past whispering to her, calling out from beyond the veil, imploring her to walk the path and hold true.
The meeting hall was once the hub of the village, a large open space where the people would gather to discuss the monotony of village life, Best in Bloom competitions and charity raffles, along with the regular complaints about anything that had changed, no matter how trivial.
She reached the hall and stepped inside. The room instantly fell silent as she entered and they felt her presence.
Her disciples were all gathered and waiting patiently. Their gazes lowered when she strode into the centre of the room. Everyone was standing with the obvious exception of Buckley.
The retired military officer sat with a flushed face, his hands gripping the arms of his wheelchair with bulging white knuckles.
Cynthia gave a small nod of the head and one of her people whipped the sack off Buckley’s head
“You want to tell me why I’m here?” he demanded.
To the man’s credit, even after being abducted he still appeared to be devoid of any fear at his predicament.
“Apologies for your travel arrangements, Mr Buckley. Steps have to be taken to secure our location. I’m sure that a military man such as yourself would understand.”
She paused while he nodded before she continued.
“You were paid for a job, Mr Buckley, a job that you have failed to deliver upon,” she answered coldly.
“A job?” he
asked, confused. “Listen, lady, I don’t work for you. I never have.”
“You were working for me, Mr Buckley; you always have been.”
“Fontaine? Is that what you’re talking about? The Fontaine job?”
“All things flow through me, Mr Buckley, all things. Mr Fontaine is no longer with us – a sad passing, but a blessed day nevertheless. I believe that you know my daughter?”
Buckley shook his head but then appeared to consider her words before slowly nodding.
“Fontaine’s fiancée,” he said slowly. “That’s who she is? Your daughter?”
Cynthia merely smiled in reply.
“That would explain why she appears to have no checkable background. You look after your people well, Ms Arrow.”
“Then we know of each other.” She nodded. “That will certainly make things easier… less of the round and round, so to speak.”
“Look, why have you had me dragged here? I mean, why not just a phone call?”
“I prefer to conduct my business face to face.” She smiled back at him.
“Well I don’t! In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a trifle inconvenienced when it comes to travelling, especially to the middle of bloody nowhere!”
“Your failed operation… would you like to explain to me what exactly went wrong?”
“Now hang on a minute, lady, this isn’t an exact science we’re dealing with here. I’m trying to anticipate a freaking alien, for God’s sake! You get that, right?”
“I suggest that you mind your language, Mr Buckley. I can assure you that blasphemy will not be tolerated.”
“Why don’t you mind it, lady, and it’s not Mr Buckley, it’s Major Buckley. I know that I damn well earned my title.”
“And I mine, major.”
“Yeah, don’t think that I don’t know who you are, you and your bunch of nutcase cult followers. I can see why you wouldn’t want me to know that I was working for the likes of you.”
“You work for money, Major Buckley; it’s probably best if you don’t try and pretend that you have morals, not at this late stage.”
“I am a patriot, Ms Arrow,” Buckley bristled. “I have fought for my country, shed blood and I’ve given my share of sacrifices….” He upended his palms towards his useless legs, indicating just what he’d given.
“Everyone in this room has bled for their cause, Major Buckley, I can assure you of that.”
“I think that our causes are very different, Ms Arrow.”
“Not at all,” she said as she began to pace around him. “We are all patriots here. We have dedicated our lives to our country at home and the world beyond. I am a patriot of mankind, Major Buckley, and I shall not rest until I have saved us all. ‘Whoever believes in the Son has eternal life; whoever does not obey the Son shall not see life, but the wrath of God remains on him,’” she quoted. “I am the wrath, Major Buckley. Oh, believe me, my child, I am the blood and the thunder, the wrath and the retribution; none shall escape my judgement.”
Buckley looked around the dilapidated village hall and the creepy expressionless faces that surrounded him. His own face didn’t show the inner workings as he evaluated his situation.
“Look, Ms Arrow, I won’t insult you by claiming to see the light, but you are right about one thing: I was, and still am, working for you. I was paid for a job, one that has yet to be fulfilled, but it shall be; you have my word on that.”
“Tell me about Mr Link.”
“Link? What about him?”
“He did rather throw a spanner in the works, did he not? Should you not have anticipated his betrayal?”
“Look, it’s… it’s complicated. Link’s a good kid and a good soldier. He can be an asset, to us both.”
“It would appear that he runs with the enemy, Major Buckley.”
“I can bring him round, trust me. Look, think about it. He’s already embedded. If I can reach him, then we have a man on the inside; now what could be more valuable than that?”
“I must say, Major Buckley, that I do not share your optimism. My understanding is that young Mr Link is now a problem, a major one, Major Buckley.” She smiled.
“He doesn’t have to be, trust me on this. I’ve been running operations across the globe for decades. I know my business, Ms Arrow. I can reach the kid, and when I do, believe me you will benefit from it.”
Cynthia stopped pacing and appeared to consider the proposal. Buckley jumped into the breach, eager to take advantage. His first priority, of course, was getting out of the village hall alive.
He had been taken from his bed with expert ease, one that made him certain Cynthia Arrow had someone on his team. That meant that she was calling the shots in a game he hadn’t known he was playing, but he did now.
The fact that they had taken his hood off meant one of two things: either she didn’t care that he’d seen her face as he wasn’t leaving here alive, or else he was about to be set to work for his new unmasked masters.
“Think about it,” he continued, “a man on the inside, right on the inside. I’m sure that you’ve got a lot of fingers in a lot of pies but no one positioned like Link, and I can give him to you.”
“You are that confident?”
“100%,” he stated firmly. “Right now, they’re off the grid, all of them.”
“As you stated though, Major Buckley, I have my own sources to find them.”
“Trust me, Ms Arrow, you won’t. They are all capable in their own right, but Crimson is a master at evading capture; hell, he’s been doing it for years now. If he doesn’t want to be found, then you’re not going to find him.”
“Perhaps.”
“There’s also something else to consider here.”
“I’m all ears. Just what else might I have overlooked?”
“You’re looking at this as an offence exercise – track and locate your targets, then elimination – but what about your defence?”
“Defence?”
“Yes. You’ve fired your shots, Ms Arrow, and you missed many of your targets.”
“I missed them?” she asked quizzically.
“Whoever missed them, the fact remains that they were missed. Now I think that they’re going to come looking for you.”
“They will run and hide.”
“Maybe, but you’ve done such an outstanding job of burning their cover that they’re not going to have ground to run to. Your media campaign has been a first-rate operation. You’ve managed to firstly cast doubt on the Queen’s Guard to such a degree that the heroes are now viewed at best with suspicion, and at worst, outright guilt. A true lesson in wartime propaganda. I tip my hat to you on that score, but I know men like Crimson. You’ve backed them all into a corner, but that man – well, that man is a hunter, a predator. The others always had a moral centre… he does not.”
“And what would you suggest?”
“With a man like that the only answer is always a bullet to the head.”
“My thought exactly, Major Buckley.”
“Then we agree,” he said, unable to keep the slight tremor of relief from his voice.
Cynthia walked over to his chair and bent down to eye level.
“Oh absolutely.” She smiled gently. “100%, that’s why I wanted them all dead when we had the chance, when you had the chance.”
Despite all of his years of battlefield and combat experience, Buckley only saw the flash of silver a brief second before he was suddenly struggling to breathe as his throat was sliced open and blood was spurting free.
Cynthia stood back with her arms folded across her chest and the Angel Blade held in one hand, now dripping blood onto the floor.
----------
The following few days were spent doing the very job that Cynthia Arrow had planned for. The mainstream media might have been sipping the Kool-Aid but social media was guzzling it by the bucketful.
The fully completed footage of the explosion at the Ryhill Care Home had now gone viral, doing far more damage to the
Queen’s Guard’s reputation than any of the official news reports.
The purple electrical glow was captured perfectly in a range of still images that had adorned every major newspaper’s front page and website; such an energy signature could only ever belong to one being on the planet.
The denials put out by the Queen’s Guard before the footage emerged only now added to the sense of a cover-up and the public’s anger was growing.
Additional footage had now also been leaked from a peaceful attempt to question the former hero’s base of operations, an attempt that had turned bloody when the Queen’s Guard had attacked the authorities, leaving multiple fatalities.
Body-cam images were leaked showing unarmed government officials seeking to gain access to the facility before they were killed. Of course, the footage was fake, but with the Queen’s Guard on the run, there was no one to offer any kind of defence.
At first, it took outlets under the Fontaine media empire to push the narrative, but now Cynthia Arrow could just sit back and allow the rest of the industry to run with her message.
After the footage rocketed around the country, the prime minister had little in the way of options regarding the mood of his people.
Simon Clermont sat at the desk in his private office, a mountain of papers laid out before him, all showing him what the best minds in his government wanted him to see.
He was firmly an old-school man when it came to data. He liked to hold papers, to read the information under his own steam, never quite trusting the electronic methods that the younger generations favoured.
The data was all pointing in one direction now. The public had lost their trust and their faith in the Queen’s Guard, an outdated notion, an analogue state-sanctioned police force in a digital age.
It had shocked him a little to see just how far the former heroes had fallen and so quickly. A selfish part of him was nervous at how swiftly tides could change and what it would mean for his own job and his party in the upcoming election if he got the government’s position wrong here.
“Sir?"
He didn’t need to turn around to know that Dennison was standing behind him; the man’s uncanny ability to creep about the prime minister’s private quarters without making a sound was fast becoming legendary.
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