Apart from the fact that US$40 million seemed a bit steep as payment, they could find nowhere in Ann's files which highlighted this aspect. And, Ross knew it was fake…so what was he up to?
Of course, it was possible that Dame Ann briefed him personally – but no one would ever know the truth. However, if this was the case, then the visit to the ship was wholly innocent.
However, the grumpy Chinook pilot had indicated that the soldiers he carried that day were ready for a fight – which seemed strange.
Also, it was apparent that Bryant had recommended that the final pallet-load of gold from the Bank of England, worth many millions, be sent direct to Brussels. If, it could be argued; if Bryant was a thief, then why didn’t he just steal the pallet-load. There were definite paradoxes regarding his behaviour.
The disappearance of Bryant, Brady and Patric Silver was highly suspicious. However, taking into account the continuing circumstances of widespread death and despair and the murder of their boss, why shouldn’t they all skip town? Their absence could be purely coincidental and entirely blameless.
At best, the evidence against them was circumstantial.
Nevertheless, UKRA put out a global search for the three men – and the two wives – but with little success.
One of Ross Bryant’s chums knew a friend of a friend in Brussels who dealt in fake passports – and for a pretty penny, all five purchased new identities – which they were now using in their fresh surroundings. Finding them would be a tricky business.
They all had ample amounts of money, and so started a life of ease and plenty.
They had also escaped the Snow!
Or had they?
***
The disappearance of Chloe Fletcher and Susan Macintyre was more perplexing.
As far as UKRA was concerned, Chloe had no money of her own, but Ann's estate would provide her with an income for many years to come. There was no way that she could be involved in the theft of the gold, so her ultimate fate was essentially ignored.
Dame Susan was in a similar boat. She had only escaped the snow herself a few days before the theft – surely her involvement was negligible.
However, where were they? Why had they run away? These facts kept them on the UKRA radar.
As for Carol Leslie? Who knows?
Richard Castle was a prime target for suspicion. He had been caught red-handed trying to smuggle eight crates of gold – fake gold as it turned out – into Europe.
The very fact that it was fake and came from the Guernsey store seemed to imply that he didn’t know that it was fake! And, since he was now dead…it would be difficult to pin any blame for the main theft on him.
Whichever way one looked at the situation, the circle kept returning to Ann bloody Fletcher. Pinnacle of society, high flying Ambassador and politician, personable and charismatic – how could such an apparently sainted person act so treacherously?
‘Easily’, said many who knew her. She was a self-centred bitch who would shit on anyone to get what she wanted…and there was a trail of broken men and women in her wake to testify to the fact.
So maybe she was the architect of the grand deception?
Maybe? Who else could it be? Not Sir Ian James, surely.
But not Ann Fletcher!
How could it be possible?
The bloody woman had been murdered, which more or less ruled her out in most people’s eyes.
***
Actually, that bloody woman had spent six glorious weeks in Caracas with her daughter and best friend, Suzi Mac.
They waded through the million dollars with consummate ease, spending insatiably on clothes, shoes and jewellery. They partied hard and by the time the purchase of their home in the American Virgin Islands was complete, they were ready to leave.
Ann had been as good as her word and equally divided their total assets into three, including Suzi’s relatively paltry million or so, after she sold her property in France.
Ann had travelled to New York, deposited the new Wills, having had them witnessed in Caracas. She also confirmed that the relevant paperwork for her other accounts was in order, and issued cards, chequebooks, account numbers and passwords to the other girls.
They had earned almost ten million US dollars in interest already, and to keep an eye on finances and pay taxes on US earnings, she employed a top New York accountant and business advisor, who slowly but surely built up three identical portfolios which generated huge amounts of cash.
They even bought gold!
Their consciences didn’t seem to bother them much at all, and once Chloe realised that Suzi and her mother were seriously bisexual, she quickly got over it and allowed them to live their own lives. Foursomes in Ann's suite were commonplace.
Chloe didn’t indulge, but had her own string of gentlemen friends, none of which got more than two bites of the cherry.
She was eventually introduced to the delights of cocaine by Suzi, and the three women headed off to the Virgin Islands in need of a serious rest.
They certainly didn’t plan to do any bloody skiing!
The Venezuelan police officer was sad to see her go, as another ten thousand dollars plonked down on his desk twice more during their stay. The hotel manager was weeping as they climbed into the taxi for the flight to New York.
By mid-summer the trio were well established in the Virgins and life could not be better. They didn’t read about or listen to news from home.
What was the point.
They had escaped the Snow!
***
Andrew Brady followed Ross Bryants’ advice and spent twenty thousand dollars on a new identity. It was an interesting experience, but it all worked out, and his new identity flew into the USA in late February. His aim was to try to find Chloe, but he didn’t really know where to start.
He tried Eleanor Fisher, but she had resigned and was living with her sister in Greece. He couldn’t make contact, so gave up the chase. Apparently, she had inherited a huge sum of money from a long lost aunt, and Brady wondered if he saw the hand of Ann Fletcher in the picture.
He was absolutely certain that Ann was alive, and that Chloe was with her.
He was absolutely certain that Ann had been behind the gold theft, and was hiding up somewhere in unqualified luxury and self-indulgence. He just hoped and prayed that Chloe had the backbone to resist her – but she was her mother’s daughter, and Brady fretted for her future.
Andy flew to New York and set about the search for his long lost daughter. He rented an inexpensive apartment and began to rebuild his life. The thought now of returning to Grantham to find his wife and two children appalled him. He wanted to remember them as they were, not as they would be now. He thought about poor dead Jane Kelly and young Chris Davies. He hoped that George, his old RAF pal had kept him safe. Although he'd tried, there was no trace of either boy or man on the survivor database.
Consequently, he cast this all aside, and tried to reconcile his part in the gold theft scam. He couldn’t, so he put it out of his mind.
The past was the past.
He read about the UK, and Ann had been correct.
It was finished.
So, he sought out his daughter.
It would be his obsession.
His penance.
He hadn’t really escaped the Snow!
It would always be with him.
***
Ross Bryant was a different kettle of fish.
He had no sleepless nights regarding his part in the ‘Fletcher’ affair. He knew damned well that she had organised the whole thing, and was probably skulking somewhere hot and sandy, sipping expensive Champagne.
He didn’t really give a toss.
He just went out and enjoyed the money. He travelled the world with his wife, trekking, involving himself in extreme sports, skiing, and climbing.
Five years after the snow began, he fell off the Eiger and was killed, buried forever in an inaccessible drift. His money lay in a bank in Lux
embourg and most of it remains there still, his wife trying hard to spend it all.
Ross really never escaped the snow!
***
Patric and Joanie had the traditional happy-ending. Patric spared Joanie the whole truth, and they emigrated to Australia under their new identities. Their ill-gotten gains got them past immigration, and they opened a string of Hotel-Spas, which made them even more money.
They live there still.
Like many ex-Brits who escaped the snow!
***
The investigations surrounding the theft soon lost momentum, as dead end followed dead end.
The new PM instigated a revived diving programme, with enhanced security to recover the remaining gold from the Bank of England with a view to auctioning it off, and that seemed to satisfy some of his critics. How that would work in reality was anyone’s guess.
What was infinitely more worrying was the state of the UK mainland and its people – both physical and psychologically.
All hope of finding anyone alive in England, Scotland and Wales was abandoned at the beginning of March, although reports of human movement on the surface was reported regularly. The two Irelands had reunited and existed as one state.
The landing of troops ceased and any prospect of putting people ashore was not really feasible.
Conditions were just too bad.
The residue of snow, persistent rain, flooding and structural collapse made survival a severe challenge. Already many hundreds of troops and rescue workers had lost their lives in the attempt to find survivors, so the military leaders reluctantly called a halt.
The burial details continued to function. Trawlers remained on station and hundreds of thousands of corpses had been recovered. Many millions of others were forever incongruously mixed with the remains of their homes or workplaces.
Burial workers did one day on, and two days off. They consisted mainly of volunteers, but some eastern Europeans worked on salary. The minister-in-charge estimated that the interment process would not be completed before winter set in.
Some parts of the UK; northern Scotland, Wales and the English National Parks were beginning to poke their noses out of the snow as floodwaters ran away, and some drying out was able to take place. However, nowhere was habitable. The flies were horrendous. Incessant giant swarms covered the landscape, as did carrion crows which had flown over from the continent, sensing the rotting flesh.
The potential for disease – cholera, dysentery, infection, lung disease and Lyme’s were obvious and God only knew what lay beneath the surface of the water.
Continuous assessments were carried out by the boffins in Brussels and they estimated a full year – at least – before the flood subsided and the destruction beneath would be fully revealed.
Consequently, a total ban on landing on the UK mainland was instigated. Airborne and naval patrols would search out unauthorised incursions, and expel them with deadly force.
A no notice shoot-to-kill policy was promulgated.
However, this didn’t prevent avaricious speculators trying their luck, and almost every day the Navy turned back or sunk shipping, and the RAF bombed and strafed the invaders.
Outrage from Europeans was met with intolerance from the British. Touch our country and ‘we’ll kill you’ was the message. It's a National Gravesite, for God’s sake!
This only further served to alienate the survivors.
***
The relocation scheme was moving ahead with some success. Families were flying out daily in their thousands to new countries and lives and, on the whole, were relatively happy with their fates. Some were forcibly removed, but in the final analysis had to accept what they were given, or face life under canvas in a German transit camp. The Germans would never allow this, so the Brits were moved on.
One of the less obvious spin-offs of the relocation scheme would only raise its ugly head many years later. If and when Britain found itself in a situation where it needed to repopulate the country – who would be available?
Most émigrés would be well established with children at school, good jobs and local citizenship.
Why would they want to return to the hell of a new Britain and all of the hardship that would entail?
It was a good question.
The United Kingdom ceased to be a member of NATO and the UN. Even the Olympic movement and FIFA marginalised the British teams. The Commonwealth rallied round after a fashion, and the Queen took up residence in Canada, until she died of a broken heart later in the year. The monarchy was subsequently abolished, and the Royal Family had to cope on its own. No state monies or aid were provided for their upkeep, and they were forced to exist at the convenience of their distant cousins around the world.
It was just one more nail in the coffin.
The UKRA plodded on, going through the motions of pointless administration, and the people of Brussels slowly came to accept that their population had been artificially inflated, probably for ever. On the plus side, it meant a great deal of new income and total integration with the British would eventually come. There was no point in fighting the inevitable!
The ex-British citizens in UKRA would never escape the snow!
***
The anti-invasion operations continued through until the summer, and it was becoming blatantly obvious that every day increasing numbers of insurgents appeared to be roaming the countryside.
The majority were heading for, or already located in coastal areas, particularly near harbours.
It was this fact that caused the RAF and RN to assume that the mainland was under attack from looters.
They couldn’t have been more wrong.
It was something, much, much worse………
Something even more frightening, even more evil, even more dangerous was growing in the snow!
THE END
Read more about the adventures of
characters from this novel in
the SNOW! series.…
in PLAGUE!
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The latest political conspiracy thrillers from Ryan Clifford
also try
SCAPEGOAT! or JETLAG!
by the same best-selling author –
RYAN CLIFFORD
Copyright © K C Eaton 2018 v3
KEVIN C EATON has asserted his moral right and his right under sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
All of the locations and characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to persons, living or undead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.
PLAGUE! is dedicated to my daughter Chloe, who insisted that I conclude the SNOW! series with a story concerning Zombies.
from the creator of SNOW! THAW! & FLOOD!
…… Ryan Clifford
the final chapters in the SNOW! series……
PLAGUE!
SNOW froze the heart out of the United Kingdom, and the
THAW created an opportunity for survival, whilst the
FLOOD revealed the true devastation and created evil on a truly terrifying scale….
PROLOGUE
In December, it began to snow.
Not just a sprinkle; not just a fleeting shower; not even just a violent winter thunderstorm that isolated a region or a county.
It began to snow on a scale rarely witnessed in temperate climes for hundreds of years – perhaps thousands.
It snowed unabated for three weeks.
Relentlessly, ceaselessly, ferociously, mercilessly, and cruelly.
For twenty-one days, the unremitting blizzard engulfed the entire British Isles and eastern Ireland – stretching out to the coasts of France, Belgium and Holland.
From the Isle of Wight to the Shetlands; from Anglesey to Dover; from the Scilly Islands to Hull, and from Waterford to Londonderry through Dublin to Belfast.
Nowhere and nobody was spared the onslaught.
The incessant snowstorm, created by a unique and unprecedented set of meteorological conditions, swept unstoppably southwards from Scotland until its icy tentacles tainted every living thing. Its frosty fingers froze the inner core of all human and animal life, which had existed blissfully oblivious of the imminent danger within a nation utterly unprepared for such a disaster.
There was no breathing space.
No gaps in the weather for three weeks. No respite.
Just think about that.
No opportunity to clear the roads, send out the snow ploughs, despatch the salt gritters, attend to the fallen or even attempt a partial or temporary recovery.
The storm was so ferocious that anybody caught in the open faltered and perished within hours – and sometimes in minutes.
Hardly anyone possessed the appropriate winter clothing in a country where often snow came but once a year - and quickly melted with the blossoming of burgeoning daffodils.
Children were separated from their parents, husbands from their wives, employers from their employees, the elderly from their care workers and patients from their doctors.
Those who had imprudently travelled to work on that first Monday morning fell into one of several ill-fated categories:
The vast majority encountered horrendous local and national traffic jams, and inescapably froze to death in their vehicles – or succumbed as they foolishly, or perhaps just in abject desperation, attempted to walk home wearing wholly inadequate clothing.
Snow! The Series [Books 1-4] Page 108