Seven Day Hero

by J. T. Brannan

  ‘And you didn’t stop it?’

  ‘I didn’t stop the attempt. But I had Bill supply faulty guidance systems for the missiles, and I alerted the Swedish authorities. But I saw what an advantage this attempt could create for us.’

  ‘For us?’ Cole asked, sitting down on the edge of a sofa near Hansard’s chair. ‘What do you mean?’

  Hansard took another sip of his drink, another puff of his pipe. ‘For Britain. I foresaw that when the American involvement became clear, which I ensured it would, there would be immediate strained relations between ERA and the United States. I had people on both sides fan the flames until conflict was inevitable.

  ‘From Bill, I knew the US would have to pursue their policy of launching a first strike, fuelled by confidence in their missile shield, if it looked like diplomacy was going to fail. I then helped that failure to ensure this American reaction.’

  Cole leant closer. ‘Why would you do that?’

  ‘My work over the years has provided me with many . . . contacts. I have a network in place both within the US government and within US military bases around the world, which can take out the US missile defences and when it looked to ERA that we were in immediate danger from an American pre-emotive nuclear attack, I had our Prime Minister offer a solution for the other European leaders. We would offer to take out their missile defences and thereby stop their attack, as the pre-emptive strike is only foolproof if the US can defend itself against the ten percent of our warheads that would still get through. Without that defence shield, the risk would be too great, and the Americans would be forced to abort, and the status quo would be restored.’

  ‘And what did Gregory ask for in return?’

  Hansard took one more sip of his drink. ‘Leadership of ERA, huge financial concessions, extended law-making powers, as well as guaranteed future British leadership of the proposed Confederation of the United States of Europe and Russia.’

  ‘And they agreed?’ Cole asked incredulously.

  ‘What choice did they really have, faced with annihilation? They agreed yesterday to our demands unconditionally, and the legal papers were signed last night by all thirty leaders.’

  Cole could not quite believe his ears. It seemed that Hansard had single-handedly made Britain the second most powerful nation in the world, leader of a superpower that would surely one day rival, if not usurp the global supremacy of the United States. But he still hadn’t had an answer to his first question.

  ‘So why kill Crozier?’

  ‘He . . . He was weak. He started to think the game I was playing was too dangerous. He was going to implicate me, and I simply could not allow that.’

  Cole considered the matter for some time. ‘And me?’ he asked eventually. ‘My family? Your family?’

  ‘The stakes were so high with this, I just couldn’t risk any link between Bill and myself.’

  Cole nodded his head, deep in thought. What scared him was that he could understand where Hansard was coming from. He was a true leader, the kind that understood that the making of omelettes involved the breaking of eggs. Cole was aware of the strength of mind needed to be like that; it was possessed by very few men. Cole was also aware that history was written by the winners, and all of Hansard’s unconscionable savagery would be happily forgotten as soon as Britain once again ruled the world. But understanding was not going to stop Cole from killing the man; not by a long shot.

  Hansard took another puff on his pipe and then looked directly at his son-in-law. ‘Mark,’ he said, ‘I know I don’t have long left. You’re going to kill me, and I accept that, but you have to listen to me before you do. Time is running out.’

  Cole looked back at Hansard, his eyes cold.

  ‘Don’t you see? I’ve left no room for manoeuvre here! The Americans are fuelling their weapons, and they will attack if we don’t stop them. And I’ve told those agents everything!’ Panic was again entering the old man’s voice, and Cole believed him. ‘Everything!’ he repeated. ‘It’s too late for diplomacy, and the American strike is set for tomorrow morning, ten-hundred hours Greenwich Mean Time, New Year’s Day! And I’ve told the agents everything about my people, names, codenames, locations, duties, orders, the exact way we’re going to attack their defence shield. And if the agents get that information to Washington, then we’re dead. All of us.’

  ‘Won’t they have downloaded the information straight back to the CIA, called it in?’

  Hansard shook his head. ‘I managed to order Blackout, the only way they can get that information back is to go physically to Washington and to hand it over in person.’

  ‘When did they leave?’ Cole asked next.

  ‘About ten minutes before you got here.’

  ‘What do they look like?’

  Hansard described the two men in detail, also describing how they had videotaped the entire interrogation, before finishing his glass. ‘Mark,’ he said seriously, ‘our agents are scheduled to carry out their operation at 0800 GMT tomorrow morning. The agents can be back in DC before that if they get the next flight from Heathrow. If they make it, then all our agents will be arrested, and Europe as we know it will be destroyed. You have to stop them at the airport.

  ‘And Mark. I am sorry. I really am.’

  Cole had listened patiently to the old man’s story, putting his anger to the side until his questions had been answered. Now it was back, erupting to the surface as he stared at the bastard who had killed his wife and children, the bastard’s own daughter and grandchildren.

  ‘Will you stop them?’ Hansard asked.

  Cole looked away, again considering the matter. As he turned, Hansard couldn’t help but smile to himself. He had managed to convince Cole again, he could see that clearly. His plan still might work.

  In a flash, Cole turned back towards Hansard and unleashed a punch into Hansard’s throat, using the knuckles of his bent fingers to target the prominent Adam’s apple. Hansard grasped immediately at his shattered larynx, trying in vain to breathe. Only pitiful, strangling gargling noises came out, and his eyes went wide.

  ‘You’ll never know, you son of a bitch,’ Cole said, as he watched Hansard take his last couple of gasping breaths. Although the eyes remained wide open, like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, Hansard’s body finally went slack, and Cole knew he was dead.

  It pained him to assist Hansard with his plan, but there was no way that Cole was going to let America launch a nuclear strike on Europe. He would follow the agents and retrieve the tape; there was no real decision to be made.

  As he went back into the kitchen, he ignored the big man on the floor as he moaned quietly, just starting to wake up. Instead, he marched straight ahead, down the hall and out of the front door. He had no time to lose.

  Nicholas Stern’s eyes started to open just in time to see the legs walking past his prostrate form. It was just a blur at first, but as he followed the figure at it retreated down the hallway, the image slowly came into focus.

  Son of a bitch. There was no doubt about it. The man leaving the apartment was Mark Cole.

  He rolled over the kitchen floor until he had a view of the sitting room. He was prepared for what he might see, but the sight of Hansard on the couch, his lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling, sent a painful jolt through him as if he had just been struck by lightning. A tear rolled down his cheek.

  I’ll get you, bastard, he vowed silently. I’ll fucking get you.

  7

  ‘There’s still no damned signal,’ Arnold complained as Moses came back over from the ticket desk.

  ‘We’ll just have to try the landline link in the departure lounge,’ he told his partner.

  ‘For all the good it’ll do. Looks like there’s nothing working,’ Arnold said, gesturing around the foyer at people cursing their cell phones and complaining vocally about the faulty payphones and Wi-Fi connections. ‘Did you manage it?’

  ‘Took some sweet talking, but yeah, they changed it.’

>   ‘Well thank fuck for that!’ Arnold exclaimed. When they had arrived at Heathrow, they had found out that all flights were soon to be grounded due to a European-wide alert, and the last plane back to Washington was full beyond capacity.

  After asking everyone they met if they would be willing to sell their tickets, the two agents finally managed to find a couple that agreed. As they knew that it was the last flight available, however, and they also knew that flights were being suspended due to the threat of nuclear war, they made a hard bargain. The price was ten thousand dollars, which Arnold had to personally draw out of his own account, as he couldn’t contact the CIA to have the money wired through.

  Once they had their tickets, they then needed to get the names changed over before they would be allowed to board, which Moses had just managed to accomplish.

  ‘Yeah, we might make it there in time. Let’s hope so anyway.’

  They passed through customs and passport control next, which went without a hitch. They had reverted to US identification, as the final planes back to America had been reserved solely for US citizens. Nobody knew whether the Americans that remained would be rounded up and interned until the whole affair had been resolved, but it seemed a distinct possibility.

  Partially because of these fears, the airport was even more crowded than it had been upon their arrival in England, literally thousands of Americans massing around the area, hoping to pick up places left by cancelled tickets. There was a feeling of panic and anxiety that hovered like a physical presence around and within the crowds, and Moses and Arnold were more than aware just how important this journey would be.

  As they entered the departure lounge, they pushed through the masses of frightened people – businessmen, families, students, retirees, young couples, all clamouring to return home – and made their way to the internet café.

  Unsurprisingly, it had been closed due to ‘technical issues’, and the agents stayed away from the angry throng of disgruntled customers outside. They looked to the nearby bank of payphones, where they saw a similar sign, describing them as ‘out of order’.

  Both men knew instinctively that the lack of communications was something to do with the current state of conflict between the US and ERA, and were afraid to think of what that state might be.

  They prayed they still had time.

  8

  Cole arrived at the airport shortly before the Heathrow American Airlines Flight WA457 was due to taxi, and used the same tactic to gain passage as Moses and Arnold had – simple bribery.

  In Cole’s case, the bribe had to be made directly to the head of flight information at the American Airlines desk. It turned out that several seats had been left unfilled, with the tickets to go to whoever offered the highest bid. Cole was not in the least surprised that such advantage was being taken of people; corruption and bribery were endemic in war zones everywhere, and it was human nature to try and capitalise on the fear of the population in such situations.

  Cole’s offer of sixty thousand dollars secured him the seat on the big Boeing, and he hoped and prayed that he would be on the same flight as the two US agents. He had stolen a look at the passenger manifest, but it had of course been impossible to identify them.

  If they were there though, they shouldn’t be too hard to spot. One of the men was reportedly six feet five, black with a moustache, the other almost a foot shorter, with slicked-back hair and an expensive taste in designer clothing. Even if they were sat separately, he would surely be able to identify at least one of them.

  But what if they weren’t on the flight? Then he was screwed, as simple as that. He could try and get to the CIA building at Langley and hope to intercept them there, but they might not even be going there; they might head straight for the White House. And without the safety net of the UK-based Blackout order, they would be able to download the recorded confession as soon as they landed on US soil.

  And if what Hansard had told him was true, then if he couldn’t stop the men, the result would be the wholesale destruction of most of the European continent. But could he trust what he had been told? It had certainly rung true, and explained the facts that Cole had been aware of. The agents had also used a truth drug on the man, and Cole knew that the modern varieties were all but guaranteed to work. And given the timescale – the agents had left only within the last hour before Cole arrived – the drug should still have been in his system.

  Still, his latest experiences with his old boss and mentor had left him with a great deal of unease when it came to trusting anything that came out of the man’s mouth. Hansard had been a professional liar for his entire working career, and was an expert in misdirection and manipulation.

  But unless Hansard had managed to take some sort of drug that would have countermanded the effects of the truth serum – and Cole failed to see how he would have done that, tied as he was to the kitchen chair – then Cole would have to believe what he had been told, despite his personal misgivings about the man who had told him.

  9

  The tickets Moses and Arnold had managed to get were for adjacent seats, and Moses sat near the aisle so that he could stretch at least one of his legs out.

  The plane was filling up with passengers, even more nervous than the ones they had flown with on their last flight, only the day before. The situation was clearly getting worse and worse, and the two agents were acutely aware of how much worse it could still get.

  ‘What time do we land?’ Arnold asked.

  ‘Just after eight in the evening according to the flight schedule,’ answered Moses with a deep rumble. ‘And Hansard’s little operation is due to kick off at three in the morning, our time.’

  ‘And the missile launch?’

  ‘0500 our time, or 1000 GMT.’

  ‘Will we have enough time?’

  ‘If we call Harry and download the information as soon as we touch down – if comms are working back home, that is – then the President will know soon after that. That’ll give us quite a few hours to pick up all the agents Hansard listed.’

  ‘But all over the world? Remember, he’s got people in all of our military commands. They’ll all need arresting. Do we have the resources to do that?’

  ‘We can only try,’ Moses said, resigned. ‘We can only try.’

  Cole boarded the plane, and found himself in a window seat with a poor view of the cabin. Still, he could make out the top of a man’s head, sticking up above the seat headrest halfway down the cabin aisle.

  Obviously tall. Black. And a moustache, from what he could see. He couldn’t be sure just from that of course, but it was a start. And the man would surely have to get up at some stage within the five hour long journey, at which stage Cole would make sure.

  For now though, he just settled back into his own seat and pretended to listen to the flight safety demonstration being given at various points throughout the aircraft, as the Boeing taxied slowly towards the runway.

  Two hours later, the plane was cruising at thirty-eight thousand feet, and the black man still hadn’t moved.

  The person next to him decided it was time to visit the toilet however, leaving a space between Cole and the third person in the row. Cole stretched himself a little into the gap, pleased to get a bit of extra space, if only for a few moments.

  It wasn’t long before the woman on the end was again standing to let someone by though, and as Cole looked around, he had to work hard to conceal his surprise. It wasn’t the original passenger; it was Nicholas Stern, his eyes boring into Cole’s as he sat down beside him.

  ‘Hello Mark,’ he said as pleasantly as he could. He still looked a little dazed from the blow to the head he had suffered earlier in the day. Cole had no idea how he had managed to make the flight; probably just had words with people in the right places, he guessed.

  ‘Hello Nicholas,’ Cole responded.

  Stern just sat there for a few moments, breathing hard. It wasn’t from exertion; it was from trying to control his anger, his rage
, his adrenaline. Cole knew what was coming, could feel the energy radiating from the man’s body.

  ‘I loved him,’ Stern said eventually, and as soon as the words were out of his mouth, his right hand flashed upwards, a blackened, carbon ceramic-bladed knife slashing violently towards Cole’s throat.

  Cole reacted instantly, jamming the knife-arm at the elbow with his left hand and gripping Stern around the back of the head with the right, lashing his forehead straight forward into the man’s face. The nose broke immediately, blood spaying out across the seat back.

  The passenger at the end of the row jumped up out of her seat, screaming hysterically. ‘Knife!’ she managed finally. ‘He’s got a knife!’

  Moses and Arnold both whipped around in their seats at the sound of the scream, seeing the woman jumping into the aisle, hands covering her mouth in horror. They could see a scuffle in the row of seats halfway back through the plane, although they couldn’t make out any details.

  Then one of the combatants stood, his face bloodied, and they gasped involuntarily. ‘Stern!’ Arnold said incredulously.

  They saw Stern draw back his knife-arm, wresting it from the grip of the man in the next seat, by the window, and stab down at his target.

  As the arm disappeared they heard a crack, and a strangled yell of pain, and then the other man was up, driving towards Stern and it was – ‘Cole!’ Moses said in disbelief.

  The two agents were out in the aisle, pushing people aside, when they saw Cole grab Stern around the neck and pull him forwards. The big man grunted, his back arching as his eyes went wide with pain and shock.

  Cole had managed to break Stern’s arm during the man’s previous stabbing attempt, disarming him in the same fluid motion. He had then grabbed Stern by the neck and pulled him forwards onto the knife, jamming it deeply up into his lower abdomen.