by Mark Lingane
Steel screamed and sparks flew up from the sides as the elevator ground against the metal walls. The oil on the cables caught and started to burn. Flames illuminated the shaft, exposing the moss growing all the way up. The fire leaped across to the walls and the moss started to smolder.
Another, higher-pitched screech started, building in volume. Hanson clasped her hands over her ears as it reached the pain threshold. The building shook violently. She slammed on the brakes and the elevator shuddered and jerked on the wires, screeching as the metal fought against itself.
The elevator slowed, but continued its descent until it smashed into the ground, flinging her onto the roof. Stars wheeled across her vision, which went red, then black. Sheets of metal crashed onto the roof beside her. She strained to get on her hands and knees, but her muscles gave way. Another great metal sheet slammed down next to her and scythed through the roof. Smoke filled the shaft, choking her. Consciousness drifted away, and she felt the warmth of the sun on her face and the fragrance of the breeze. And steam.
She was snapped back from the vision as she was dragged over sharp metal edges and fell down inside the elevator. Chambers tumbled to the floor of the elevator with her in his arms. The doors were buckled, but open. He lifted her over his shoulder, and clambered up over the makeshift step into the foyer.
The foyer walls were alive with electricity, twisting and turning, like they were inside a lightning bolt. At the edge of his hearing, Chambers could hear voices. Words. Indefinable, but words all the same, streaming down around him. He sprinted across the floor as the roof collapsed fractionally behind them. Out through the doors and away from the cracking monstrosity he charged, hearing the destruction rain down.
He tripped and both tumbled to the ground. They scrambled for safety behind a half-destroyed house as the building finished its job of demolition. They sat with their backs to the house as an enormous dust cloud billowed out past them. The roar of the cascading building engulfed them, until finally it went silent, a great beast slain.
Dark, heavy clouds rolled in from the south. Much-needed rain began to splatter down on them.
Hanson looked over to Chambers. “That was singularly the worst experience of my life. Probably up there with giving birth, I imagine.”
He laughed. “Are you going to write this up in a report?”
“I might give it a miss. I’m not even sure what I saw. It all seems so blurry.”
“What the hell was it?”
“A conjoined hallucination? Maybe the moss emitted some fear-inducing drug.” Hanson’s head sagged forward.
“Whatever it was, it sure was creepy,” Chambers said. “What was with those faces?”
“You believe in ghosts?”
“God, no. Relatives are bad enough when they’re alive. Don’t need them hanging around, judging me from beyond the grave.”
Hanson had so many thoughts hurtling around she struggled to put any kind of order to them. The place was real. The vision had been real, but not real for now, in this time and place. It felt like the time and space was being shared. A thought well beyond flying cars and alien technology.
“What worries me is that we went in just before the building was about to collapse. How likely is that? Or maybe us being in it upset it and made it collapse,” Chambers said.
“Upset it? It wasn’t an animal.”
“It wasn’t a normal building. There were people there, but obviously they weren’t … people. More like projections from … somewhere else.”
Hanson kept quiet about her thoughts. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the bullet, still shiny and new.
21
FIELD MARSHAL ANDREW Norton stretched out his leg. It had stiffened after he had sat in, for hours, on the last meeting with the politicians. Their incessant babbling and skirting around the issues with their banal, politically correct language had left him numb inside and out. He felt the indentation in his leg. The metal plate was clicking. He flicked through his contacts list for the doctor’s number.
The phone rang, surprising him. He checked the number, smiled and pressed the speaker button. “Ted Holmes, good to hear from you. I got your email.”
A voice full of static responded after a short delay. “Hey, Andrew, thanks for covering for me. CiC doesn’t want me flying in light of recent events.”
“Understood. How’s the commander?”
“Same as ever,” Holmes said. “Fighting against his father’s legacy, but he’s concerned about this. We have a feeling about who’s behind it, but we can’t be too vocal about it, if you get my meaning.”
“Sure, you want me to lead the conversation?” Norton said.
“That would be much appreciated. I was hoping you would.”
A strong course of static had Norton reeling away from the speaker. “This is a terrible line, Ted. I thought you’d had an upgrade.”
“We did. A few lines are playing up. I’ll get IT to look at it. You got much intel?”
Norton laughed. “Nothing credible. Until someone steps forward, we don’t want to look foolish. Who are you leaning toward?”
“We’ve got some private notes hinting at the MEK,” Holmes said.
“Aren’t they yours?”
“Yeah. With the trouble with Turkey getting the squeeze between Russian and Islamic State, it was only a matter of time. They’ve got the money, and with the old guard gone they have no friends in the White House. No one’s listening to them.”
Norton tapped his fingers on the desktop. “It seems out of whack, but I’ll table it for you. Can’t hurt to ask.”
“How are you doing? I can’t believe it’s been a year since Belle went. I’m sorry Celia and I haven’t been in contact more.”
There was a pause. “The worst of it’s over.” Norton felt Holmes should have known better than to ask. They’d known each other for decades. It had been a statement made without thought, which meant Holmes was thinking about other things.
“We’ll come over and do dinner when this is over. You can show us your latest speakers. How’s the collection going?”
Norton folded his arms and leaned forward. “That would be most appreciated. It goes well. I’ve made a friend up on Tottenham Court Road who has a shop full of old-school three-way. Subwoofers that would make you lose your lunch.”
Lance Corporal Jackson ducked in through Norton’s doorway and gave him a signal. He reciprocated. “We’d better get the meet underway. See you in the Mandrake. London out.”
“U.S. out.”
Norton grabbed his iPad and made his way out of the MI offices. General Hubbard, one of Norton’s jockeying commanders, nodded to the field marshal as he hobbled down the hallway. Norton indicated for him to follow.
“How was the meet at Number Ten?” Hubbard asked.
“The same as it always is. They’re only interested in votes. And after Blair, none of them wants to be too vocal. They know the people won’t stand for another deception.”
“Even if planes are falling out of the sky?”
“I think some forget that we’re here to defend the people.” Norton glanced over at Hubbard.
“You’re limping badly today,” Hubbard said without looking.
“From sitting for far too long, listening to the inane chattering of self-interested politicians. I was so bored my body numbed down to my ass. Movement sorts it out.”
The two men stepped into a metal elevator. Norton swiped his card over the reader and pressed the bottom button.
Hubbard waited for the doors to close. “What was the outcome?” The lights of the floors flicked past.
“There wasn’t enough credible evidence for it to be a police matter. Stanley and Booker put up a good argument, and he had Hanson’s daughter, who put up a sound rationalization. You remember the brigadier? He and the daughter were such naturals with firearms, it was unbelievable.”
Hubbard looked into the corner of the elevator and gave a slight nod. His shoulders hunch
ed forward.
Norton sighed. “I haven’t seen her since she was, must have been thirteen, just after her mother passed away. A lot of water under that bridge.”
Norton thought back about the meet. It hadn’t gone well for her, but young Hanson was visibly passionate about her job. She was bright and dedicated. It was a pity she hadn’t followed family expectations; he could use people like her. He glanced over at Hubbard, who was still staring into the corner. Especially used people like her.
“In a way,” he said, “I wish the PM had given the investigation to them. It’s going to be a difficult PR problem, and better them than us. We’ve got bigger fish to fry.”
“Why would the PM think it was a crime? It looks like straightforward terrorism to me.”
Norton shrugged. “He’s probably weighing up how it looks, especially for the public. I would’ve expected the police to provide a more immediate and friendly PR shield to a politician’s eyes, but we play the cards we’re dealt.”
“Have you decided on the new head of the Joint Forces Command?”
Norton shook his head. “I haven’t seen the right qualities in anyone yet for the JFC. Jimbo is a big set of boots to fill. Experience like his is hard to find.”
The elevator doors opened and the men stepped out into a large underground cave. Hubbard, with a sour face, let Norton lead. Sheet metal made up the walls and floors. Bright fluorescent lights shone from recessed alcoves. Small trains were pulling into the area from tunnels carved through the rock.
Norton paused at the door and flexed his knee before swiping his security card. A guard saluted as he passed. Hubbard followed, swiping his own. The guard stopped him and requested the usual second-level identification and authorization. Hubbard scowled. Norton waited for him to fulfill the procedural requirements and both entered the underground facility.
“Game face on.” Norton took a couple of deep breaths and rubbed the small cross hanging around his neck. He put his shoulders back, his head up and chin out, and stepped forward.
Field Marshal Sir Andrew Norton entered the Mandrake Conference Theatre, his commanding presence bringing the assembled muttering personnel to silence. There had been arguments over whether to call this concealed bunker the “War Room,” but sanity had prevailed.
The large oval space was cold in its industrial design, with perforated metal sheets offset by the sporadic wood paneling encircling the room. Brittle light filtered down from excessive strip lighting crisscrossing the ceiling, reflecting off the polished oak table surrounded by twenty seats. The dozen monitors mounted against the northern wall flickered sporadically.
Heavyset and heavily armed guards were stationed at equidistant points around the perimeter of the room. Each stood at intense attention with an automatic rifle clamped to his side.
Men wired up on something illegal, Norton thought. Probably the same stuff his collected dignitaries were shoving up their noses to muster some kind of bravado in the face of an unknown enemy.
Norton had never been elected the leader of the assembly, but they always looked to him when times got tough. He detested the extra responsibility, and the implicit nature of it made it impossible to complain. It was hard enough looking after his own country, let alone others’ as well. Any casual advice ended up in more paperwork, and he’d endured more late nights than he could remember. He hoped it all tallied up into favors that translated into memorable dinners in the finest European restaurants when he retired. He glanced over at the French marshal, Phillip du Merle. The dining on the Champs Elysees was still second to none, and he was owed a lot of good nights there.
Pale and concerned faces began to appear on the monitors. He took it as the opportune time to kick off the meeting.
“Ladies, gentlemen, first, I thank those of you who could assemble here. To the others who are video conferencing, I apologize for the intermittent lines. We have IT checking for issues, and hope to have it resolved shortly. To business: we’ve had three high-profile flights go down in major capitals. The impact has been incalculable. If someone wanted to make a statement, they have succeeded.”
“Surely someone has come forward and claimed it,” Lieutenant General Jenell Schaffrath said. The commander of the Germany military clasped her hands together, and her short fringe fell forward over her forehead. Norton knew she did this when she was nervous. And she was rarely nervous.
The final blank monitor flickered into life, and the grainy face of Ted Holmes appeared.
“The chair recognizes the chief of staff of the United States Armed Forces,” Norton said.
Norton’s eyes flicked over to Holmes, who was staring blankly from the screen, then over to the Turkish commander, Ismet Saka. No one was giving anything away. Unusually, he found himself sweating. Friendships notwithstanding, something didn’t feel right about the U.S.
“I’ve been given some excellent inside evidence regarding the architects of the terror attacks,” Norton said. “I’m sorry, Marshal Saka, but we believe it to be the MEK.”
“Why be sorry? They’re nothing to do with us. Look to your American friend.” Saka was calm and indifferent.
Norton knew the man to be as slippery as an eel, and one who prided himself on his strength and arrogance to the West. It was going to be a high-stakes poker game. “This is not the forum for finger-pointing,” he said, “we’re looking for solutions.”
“How reliable is this intel?” Jenell Schaffrath asked.
“It’s good, but we’re pursuing further investigations,” Norton replied.
“Is it as good as the WMD intel?” Phillip du Merle said.
“Now is not the time, Marshal.” Norton held up his palm to the French marshal.
Du Merle folded his arms and stared back. With no response from Norton, he leaned forward on the grand circular desk and looked around at the other military heads. The tension in the room began to build. All Norton could do was pressure Turkey.
“Marshal Saka,” he said to the Turkish commander, “could you provide corroborating evidence to back up your claims?”
“Of course,” Saka replied, “as soon as the U.S. provides their proof. We’re more than happy to assist where we can.”
Schaffrath’s phone rang, startling the assembly. She listened for a moment and her face fell. “I’m receiving information that we’ve also had a plane fall.” She held up two fingers. “No, two planes.”
Du Merle’s phone rang, as did Saka’s. Phones around the room began to chorus, all with the same message. Planes were falling out of the sky. Shouting erupted, and the men and women in the room started arguing. The conferencing monitors went dead and the room fell into silence.
“Chief of Staff, are you there? Ted, can you hear me?”
With an ashen face, Schaffrath turned to the others. “We’re under attack, all of us. This isn’t terrorism, this is war.”
“Lieutenant General, we can’t all be under attack. Who would attack all the NATO states?”
“The Chinese, North Korea,” Schaffrath said.
“Why would either country do this?” Norton said. All the military heads looked at Norton. Norton looked at all the military heads.
“Has there ever been a sane reason to start a war? Ever?” Schaffrath said. “You’re the NATO head, Norton. What’s your decision?”
“Ground everything. Nothing goes up without our consent. Not until we get some defined target.”
“We must strike back,” Schaffrath said.
“Against who?” Norton said.
“Everyone,” another military head shouted.
“War needs a distinct enemy,” Norton said. “If we strike against unknown enemies, we end up fighting ourselves.”
“No, we agree who we attack and we rally together. We know our enemies, and we need to be open and honest,” Schaffrath said.
“I disagree. This is a bad idea.” Norton was surprised by Schaffrath’s response. “We don’t have firm evidence.”
“Then we’ll
do it without you,” she said.
“As NATO commander, I suggest you rethink that idea, or at least wait until we get input from our absent allies.” Norton indicated the blacked-out monitors.
“You mean your friends,” Saka said.
“In times of war, there are no friends,” Norton said to the Turkish marshal. “It brings out the worst in everyone.”
“I don’t have the time to listen to ideological rhetoric. My countrymen need me.” The Turk stood up and left.
The others followed, leaving only Du Merle and Norton glaring at each other. In the tense silence, they both turned and headed toward the door. General Hubbard joined the two ancient foes, stepping a respectful distance behind.
“You don’t seem to be so keen these days,” Du Merle said. “Not like 2003. Have your politicians cut off your vitality?”
“Let’s not dwell on past issues and conflicts,” Norton replied. “Not everyone has a great history of war and providing support when it’s asked for. Let’s be friends today, for old time’s sake, and agree on rationality.”
Du Merle glared at him. “I will discuss the options with my advisors.” He gave Norton a curt nod of understanding and left the room.
“That told him, Field Marshal,” Hubbard said.
“I don’t know why he has to be so antagonistic. We get on better with the Germans than we do with the French. What’s happened to the world?” Norton shook his head in disbelief.
The two British leaders departed the conference room and made their way back to the Ministry of Defence. Norton was quiet for the duration. As soon as he entered his office, he snapped back to his usual temperament.
“Hubbard, get Ted on the line. We’ll need his support.”
“I’m sorry, Field Marshal, but the latest IT update says the lines are dead.”
“I thought this new satellite system was state of the art.”
“Apparently not stately enough.”
“Good God, man, then get him on the phone,” Norton shouted. “I assume we still have cables under the sea. Come on, start thinking.” He clicked his fingers. The pain in his leg flared, causing him to flex.