by Dc Alden
His eyes clouded over and the darkness called him again. He felt relieved. He’d succumb this time. The pain in his stomach had gone, to be replaced by the pain of remorse, betrayal… and unrequited love.
He opened his eyes and he held her again, under the cool canopy of the oasis, her beautiful face, her warm smile, a smile that embraced and caressed him. She slipped away from his arms and he reached out after her. She laughed, dancing from his grasp as she flitted between the trees. He chased after her but she pulled further away, her voice echoing amongst the palms. Then she was lost in the shadows.
Cooper looked up through the treetops. It was night, but a night so dark that it momentarily frightened him. There were no stars and no moon, and the darkness seemed to be descending like a black ceiling, swallowing the tops of the palms as it sank towards him. Then it swallowed him completely and suddenly he didn’t feel afraid anymore. The darkness felt warm and comforting, a place where he could forget everything that had ever been, except the love of a beautiful woman.
He closed his eyes and then there was nothing.
10 Downing Street
Sergeant Alan Morris had been sitting inside a police van on Birdcage Walk, just a few hundred yards from Whitehall, when the bomb detonated. Morris and his six-man Rapid Response Team had been enjoying a break under the leafy canopy of St James’s Park when suddenly their radios went dead. Seconds later, the ground shook beneath them as the Downing Street blast thundered across Central London. As the debris cannoned off the roof of their vehicle, Morris had seen the smoke billowing above the rooftops and ordered the driver into Whitehall.
Parliament Square was in chaos. Scores of civilian cars had been damaged by bomb debris, while others had careered into each other, causing a huge traffic jam. Many drivers had abandoned their vehicles and were running away from the immediate vicinity, whilst other police units were desperately trying to clear the road to make way for the emergency services that were surely on their way.
Whitehall itself was littered with rubble, so Morris had ordered his team out of their van and double-timed it along the wide avenue. They skirted the huge, smouldering crater at the entrance to Downing Street and sprinted along the cul-de-sac to Number Ten. As Morris ran, he’d tried frantically to radio his controller but all he heard was static. Thankfully they’d found the Prime Minister alive. The Downing Street police detail were nowhere to be seen, no doubt killed in the blast and buried under the mountains of rubble. Morris shuddered.
Now, as he stood outside the most famous front door in the world, he could hear gunshots. Some were single reports but he heard automatic fire, too. A siren wailed in the distance only to be drowned out by a series of large explosions in quick succession. To Morris, it sounded like war had broken out, but he had to ignore what was happening elsewhere and concentrate on keeping the immediate situation under control.
He heard crackling above his head and looked up to see thousands of burning embers swirling in the air. The fires in Number Ten were starting to take hold. He had to move the PM soon, but where to? Where was safe? Couldn’t take him up Whitehall, it was chaos up there and there may be other explosive devices, not to mention the shooting. He had to find another way out. The PM would know, surely? He must have rehearsed Downing Street evacuation drills a dozen times.
When Morris re-entered Number Ten, he saw that Beecham’s aide had been carried down into the lobby, his wounds being attended to by one of his team. The Prime Minister was there too, holding the man’s hand. Mac, his most senior officer, pulled him to one side. He kept his voice low.
‘Most of the domestic staff were at the rear of the building when the bomb went off. They legged it out into the garden and a couple of the lads are out there keeping an eye on them. There’s a few missing but, as far as the survivors are concerned, there are no major injuries, just shock and a few cuts and bruises. I thought I’d leave them out there for now. Might be too dangerous to take them out the front.’
Morris nodded. ‘Good job, Mac. How’s he doing?’ indicating the casualty in the lobby.
‘That’s David Fuller.’
Morris was shocked. He’d seen Fuller many times on TV, an instantly recognisable figure. Now he was a mess of blood and burns. ‘Jesus Christ. How is he?’
Mac lowered his voice. ‘Not good. Deep shock, internal bleeding, blood pressure’s way down. Unless we get proper help soon he won’t make it.’
‘Where was he when the bomb went off?’
‘In the Cabinet Room. Part of the wall collapsed but he managed to dig himself out.’
Morris looked around the lobby. There was debris everywhere and smoke was starting to drift in from the street. ‘Okay Mac, here’s what we’re going to do. We’ve got to move the PM to a secure location. Don’t ask me where, I haven’t figured that out yet, but we can’t take everyone. Tell the lads in the garden to stay with the staff until help arrives. Try and salvage some blankets, cushions, curtains, anything to make them comfortable. And get some water, too. Make sure they’re kept as far away from the building as possible. I don’t know what the fuck’s going on, but I’ve a feeling the fire brigade might be very busy tonight.’
‘I’m on it.’
‘Another thing. Try and find a phone, a radio, anything. See if you can find out what the hell’s happening.’
Mac hurried away and Morris walked over to the Prime Minister who was kneeling down, gripping his injured friend’s hand. Fuller wasn’t looking good at all. His face was pale and drawn, sweat beaded his forehead and thick, dark blood had pooled around his badly-injured leg. The police officer treating the wound caught Morris’ eye. Subtly, he shook his head.
Harry, talking quietly to Fuller, missed the exchange. ‘You’re going to be fine, David. Just hang on,’ he soothed.
Fuller turned his head towards Beecham. His eyes were horribly bloodshot and his voice rasped heavily as he spoke.
‘Don’t feel too good, Harry. Something inside me… feels all wrong.’ His voice trailed away and his eyelids began to close.
Harry gripped his shoulder. ‘David, listen to me. I need you to stay with me. Try to stay awake. Help will be here soon.’
Fuller’s eyes flicked open. ‘Where’s Anna? She should have… been back here by now. The dinner, tonight…’
Harry bit his lip hard. Fifteen minutes ago, the world revolved at its usual pace, routine, predictable even. Now it had turned upside down and, in that short space of time, Harry had become a widower. And, by the look of things, he was about to lose his best friend too. He fought to keep his voice from cracking.
‘She’s gone, David.’
With a supreme effort, Fuller squeezed Harry’s hand. ‘Harry, I’m so…’
A spasm of pain wracked Fuller’s body and his hand went limp. Harry’s eyes flicked to the police medic and saw the resignation in his eyes. This can’t be happening.
‘Surely there’s something we can do? Where the hell are the emergency services?’ he whispered urgently.
Morris stepped in, laying a hand on Harry’s shoulder. ‘Sir, we don’t know what’s going on out there. It’s chaos.’
Harry’s face paled. ‘You said we were under some sort of attack.’
‘Without doubt. That’s why we’ve got to move as quickly as possible.’
‘Where to?’
‘Well, I was hoping you could tell us. I think it’s too dangerous to evacuate into Whitehall. Is there another way out of here?’
Harry looked down at Fuller. ‘What about David?’
The police medic finished taping a large bandage around Fuller’s leg wound.
‘He needs immediate surgery, Prime Minister. All I can do is try and make him comfortable.’
Harry leaned over Fuller, whose eyes were closed. ‘David. Can you hear me?’ Fuller’s eyes flickered open. He tried to smile through a mask of pain. ‘I may
be injured, Harry but… I’m not deaf. You have to… leave me here.’
‘No David, we
won’t do that.’
Fuller coughed, a deep wet hack, speckling his lips with blood. Harry pulled out a handkerchief and wiped Fuller’s mouth. As he did, Fuller clamped his hand weakly around Harry’s wrist.
‘You’ve been a good friend, Harry. I-’ He cried out as another spasm of pain rippled through his broken body. When he spoke again his voice was little more than a faint whisper. ‘I can’t feel anything. You need to get out, now. Go, please.’ Harry held Fuller’s hand tight. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t do more, David.’ His voice cracked then. He was watching his best friend die, right in front of him.
‘Help me get him outside,’ he ordered Morris.
Gently they carried Fuller out to the garden, laying him down on the grass away from the building. Gunfire and sirens filled the air. The Downing Street staff were there too, huddled together against the far wall. Harry bent down, covering Fuller with a blanket recovered from the house.
‘Is there anything else we can do for you, David?’
Fuller’s face had taken on a grey pallor. He could barely talk. ‘Just…something for the pain… anything,’ he whispered.
Harry glanced at the police medic, who led him a few yards away. The policeman kept his voice low. ‘I’ve got a couple of ampoules of morphine, Sir. He won’t feel a thing.’
Harry nodded grimly. ‘Do it.’
Morris decided to give the Prime Minister a moment with his dying friend. He hurried across the grass to where the staff were gathered near the garden wall. Two men were stood against the wall, one balancing on the other’s shoulders. Morris called up to him.
‘What can you see?’
The man look down, fear etched on his face. ‘There’s shooting across the park, coming from the direction of the barracks. I can see lots of smoke and flashes. What the bloody hell’s going on?’ he cried.
Morris knew that all the civilians were on the verge of panic and he had to calm them down somehow. ‘First things first, get down from there.’ The man jumped down and the staff gathered around Morris. ‘Look, I know as much about what’s happening as you lot. The best thing you people can do right now is stay put. The emergency services will get here, but it may take them a while. In the meantime, stay away from the building and keep together.’ Morris jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘I’m leaving two of my guys with you. They’ll look after you.’
‘Where are you going?’ asked a portly middle-aged woman in chef ’s whites.
‘Our priority is to get the PM away from here and I haven’t got the manpower to take care of all of you. As soon as we get to a secure location I’ll send someone back for you.’
‘How long will that be?’ a younger woman wailed.
‘Shouldn’t be long. And no more peering over walls, okay?’
The staff grumbled begrudging agreement. Morris felt a twinge of guilt at deserting them, but his priority now was the PM. He trotted back to Harry who was gently pulling the blanket over Fuller’s face. He stood up as Morris approached.
‘I’m sorry,’ Morris offered.
Harry looked down at Fuller’s lifeless body. ‘He was a good man. A good friend.’
‘Sir, we have to move,’ urged Morris.
Harry shook his head. ‘I can’t leave him here like this.’
‘I’m afraid we’ll have to,’ said Morris gently. ‘We can come back for him later, when things settle down.’
Harry took another look at his departed friend, now covered with a cheap grey blanket. It didn’t seem right to abandon him, but he knew they had no other choice. Besides, if David were alive he would be more concerned about Harry’s safety than his own.
‘What now?’
Morris saw Mac jogging across the grass towards him. ‘What’s the word on the comms?’
Mac shook his head. ‘Can’t raise a soul. Everything’s down, including the civvy phone network.’
‘Shit.’ Morris turned to Harry. ‘You must have some sort of secure room, an emergency location or-’
‘Crisis Management Centre,’ Harry cut in, ‘down in the basement. There’s also a tunnel that runs beneath Whitehall, leading directly to the Ministry of Defence building.’
Morris thought quickly. ‘Sounds like a plan. And we can use the tunnel to evacuate everybody out of here and into the MOD building.’ For the first time since it all began, Morris began to breathe a little easier. He turned to Mac.
‘Round up all the civvies. When we get downstairs, I want you to take them straight through the tunnel. Once you’re in the MOD building, stick them in a room away from the windows. I’ll stay here and try to establish comms. Once we’ve organised a way out of Whitehall we’ll come and get you. Okay?’
In a few moments, the civilian staff had been safely herded together. Morris turned to Harry. ‘That’s everybody. Lead on, Sir.’
With a final glance at his dead friend, Harry turned and led the group across the garden and back into Number Ten. The smoke inside had thickened and they could all hear the crack and spit of flames as the fires began to take hold on the upper floors. The group continued quickly through the building until they arrived at a short corridor, at the end of which was a large steel door marked Secure Area – Authorised Personnel Only. With a sharp twist of the handle, Harry led them through the door and down into a wide stairwell.
‘Mind your step,’ he cautioned. They made their way down several flights of concrete stairs and found themselves in a long, brightly lit corridor. On the right was the CMC. Harry stopped outside and pointed towards the end of the corridor.
‘Turn right at the end there and the tunnel will lead you into the MOD building.’
Morris nodded to Mac who set off immediately, taking the civilian staff with him. As they filed past him, Harry reached out and shook a hand here and there, trying to sound as optimistic as possible. His voice trembled slightly. ‘Good luck. I’m sure everything will turn out okay. Just do what the police tell you.’
Harry watched them go. They were good people, dedicated in their duty to the office of Prime Minister. The irony was that he didn’t know half their names and he felt rather guilty about that. He watched the last of them disappear around the corner, then turned to Morris.
‘As you can see we’ve got power down here, thanks to an emergency backup generator in that room over there.’ Harry pointed to a steel door on the other side of the corridor. It looked the same as the main door to the basement; government grey, with two large locking handles and adorned with yellow signs that warned High Voltage Electricity – Danger of Death.
‘Good,’ Morris nodded. ‘How about those comms, then?’
Harry led the police officers into the CMC. Morris gave a low whistle when he saw the large amount of electronic maps, LCD displays and high-spec communications equipment scattered around the room. He headed straight for an Airwaves comms set, a piece of equipment he was familiar with and the type used across the Met area. He began scrolling through the frequencies.
‘Any luck, Sergeant?’
Morris shook his head. ‘Can’t raise anyone. It’s like the whole net’s dead.’
‘Keep trying.’ Harry got up and paced the room. Anna’s violent death invaded his thoughts again, the almost physical pain twisting his stomach in knots. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, banishing the images that threatened to overwhelm him. He took several deep breaths, regaining his composure after a few moments. A clear head was needed now, something else to focus on. So what did they know?
An attack on the government had taken place, an attack on a massive scale. No emergency services had arrived, no security forces other than the small police team that now accompanied him, and all communications were down. To cap it all, there were explosions and gunfire across St James’s Park. It was all a terrifying, chaotic mess.
He looked up at the bank of monitor screens, some of which were usually tuned in to the media channels. All they transmitted now was a snowstorm of static. What the hell was happening? Short of ta
king a walking tour of the area, there was no way of finding out. It was clear to Harry that he had to abandon Downing Street. But where to go, and how to get there?
He spun around when he heard footsteps echoing along the corridor. Mac entered the room accompanied by Brigadier Forsythe from the CIG team. The Brigadier was dressed in full combat uniform and wearing a camouflaged helmet and flak jacket. On his belt he carried a pistol holster, the flap unbuttoned. Behind him, four heavily armed soldiers also entered the room and fanned out around the walls.
‘Giles! Thank God you-’
Without a word, Forsythe took Harry’s arm and guided him away from the others. His face told Harry more about the gravity of the situation than anything he’d seen or heard since the whole nightmare had started.
‘Prime Minister,’ began the Brigadier, ‘let me start by saying how sorry I am about your wife and Mr Fuller.’ Harry looked at him uncomprehendingly. ‘The police have briefed me. I was in the MOD building when your staff appeared. I’ve settled them on the sixth floor, in a conference room. They’re safe for the time being.’
‘What the bloody hell’s going on, Giles?’
Forsythe took a deep breath. ‘Here’s what we know. At six o’clock this evening a series of co-coordinated attacks took place across the country-’
‘Across the country? What do you mean?’ interrupted Harry.
The Brigadier held up a hand. ‘I know it’s a shock, but just hear me out. Okay?’ Harry nodded soberly. ‘The UK, or at least some parts of it, is under attack and what we are experiencing could be the first wave of an even larger operation. Contact has been lost with every major army base and garrison across the country. I was able to speak to a colleague of mine very briefly, a senior commander at Aldershot. He said the garrison had been infiltrated by large groups of armed men and that there were several firefights taking place in or around the vicinity of his particular barracks. Shortly thereafter, the line went dead. So it’s not just London. I grabbed some binoculars and went up onto the roof of the MOD. The surrounding area has been devastated and there are smoke plumes right across the horizon. Communications across the board appear to be down, along with all civilian and governmental power grids. This is not a terrorist incident, Prime Minister.’