Forbes paused momentarily to take a sip of water.
‘Which brings me to my submission. By a process of deduction, it is reasonable to assert that the five groups of mutants are being herded towards the five ports in the UK by a form of leadership. It is also possible that if that leadership is terminated – then the horde becomes unable to function. They would lack guidance and control and – as in Ireland – they will grind to a halt - aimless.’
The President turned to Forbes, an idea forming in his mind:
‘So, Professor, if we can identify and destroy these leaders, it might be possible to stop the postulated invasion of Europe.’
‘Yes sir…but not so fast. We need to confirm this theory. Your Photographic Interpreters will need to discover if the cessation of the Irish mutant advance coincided with the destruction of a particular target at 19:54 hours yesterday. If we can prove that my theory is correct, then the task is relatively simple – all we probably need to do is search out and destroy the leaders in the UK.’
Lord Irvine was incredulous.
‘But there are over 1.2 million of the bloody things, Forbes. How in God’s name can we possibly find such a needle in a haystack?’
‘All I can say, sir, is that we'd better get moving. Time is running out.’
The head of the CIA immediately stood up and turned to Colonel Dylan.
‘Dylan, your task priority has changed. Find out if there were any air strikes against specific targets in Ireland at or around 19:54 hours on Saturday night. I want answers on my desk by 0600 tomorrow morning. You’d better get moving,’ and turning to Lord Irvine –‘with your permission, sir?’
‘Of course – and thank you Professor Forbes. If what you have calculated proves to be fact – then our troubles may well be over, and to quote a once great man, this might be the beginning of the end. Thank God!’
As Colonel Dylan sprang up and departed the room, there was a clamour of handshaking and backslapping – as Americans are wont to do - as John Forbes was surrounded by much relieved Premiers and military leaders.
‘Well done Forbes,’ effused POTUS, ‘your diligence may well have saved us all!’
However Forbes was circumspect. His facial expression was not one of joy or relief.
‘Come now, Forbes,’ encouraged Lord Irvine, ‘surely you can raise a smile. You might just have achieved something extraordinary. You’re a hero, man!’
Forbes quickly turned off his i-Phone and looked up. A brief message had come through from the isolation centre.
‘Ladies, gentlemen, I am always cautious until a theory is proven beyond all doubt. Let us wait and see what Colonel Dylan comes up with.’
The US President intervened.
‘Quite right, Forbes. Let's wait until tomorrow morning and see what Colonel Dylan finds. I suggest that we reconvene at 0800 tomorrow morning. Agreed?’
There was a general consensus and the meeting began to break up. Professor Forbes turned to the head of the CIA who was conversing with SACEUR.
‘Gentlemen, can I just have a minute in private?’
‘Surely, John, what's the problem?’ answered SACEUR jovially.
Professor Forbes was shaking his head in clear dismay.
‘I’ve just heard from the decontamination centre. It is not good news. Abraham de Silva has just regained consciousness.’
Day 184 / Z-Day 149
Sunday 16 June
Wales
'The Rook' stood high up at the end of a rough walker’s track about three hundred metres north of Jersey Park, Swansea.
The supreme leader of the mutant horde had a clear view overlooking the harbour and the Maritime Quarter. She, 'The Hawk'’ and three recently promoted close lieutenants stood on the edge of a small copse, viewing the main mass of her acolytes swarming towards the Welsh port. Much of the pre-snow infrastructure had been demolished by the flood and had washed away, and the mutants were patiently milling amongst the devastation.
They were waiting for 'The Rook' to give the order to set off down the Bristol Channel and across the English Channel and begin the invasion of Europe. Thousands of small and not so small boats were crammed into the harbour and along the coast south-west towards Port Talbot, the beaches crammed with vessels of all kinds, transported to Wales by the mutants themselves. It was a similar story down towards the southeast and The Mumbles. There were over 250,000 of the creatures, mainly adults, and 'The Rook' was able to monitor her followers from her vantage point over the city.
She had summoned three of her cohorts and had begun the task of upgrading their abilities to encompass command and control. She had also instructed her five main Generals to select similar numbers of the horde as a contingency against unforeseen disaster. She knew full well that without her guidance, the army would have no purpose or direction – except to feed. They would merely disperse and probably wander the mainland UK forever in search of nourishment – and there was none. She knew that it would probably never occur to the foot soldiers to cross the waters surrounding the UK and seek sustenance elsewhere. Eventually, within four years they would all die out – permanently.
This she could not allow to happen.
On Saturday the fifteenth at 7.54pm she had felt a huge electrical surge and an enormous sense of loss.
She knew immediately that ‘The Kite’ had been destroyed.
The power emanating from the controller across the water had ceased violently and inexplicably.
However, 'The Rook' quickly surmised the truth. She knew that the horde in Ireland was under attack, and that ‘The Kite’ was working hard to control her forces. She had advised ‘The Kite’ on how to marshal her army and significant progress had been made. Although her numbers were much lower than those at the disposal of 'The Rook', critical battle lessons were being learned.
It had been a valuable training ground for 'The Rook'.
However, it appeared that the campaign in Ireland was now at an end. She had lost all contact with the mutant horde across the water. ‘The Kite’ had not appointed and trained any Lieutenants.
They were now totally lost to her cause.
Nevertheless, 'The Rook' had already realised that she required back-up and the three newly recruited lieutenants were in the process of a rapid upgrade. If by some stroke of bad luck, she or one of her five main Generals were eliminated, then one of the substitutes could take over. She was even considering the option of a full network of command and control.
However, for the time being, she must concentrate her efforts on marshalling these thousands onto shipping and across the Channel.
'The Rook' had selected a provisional date for the invasion.
The next new moon. The first of July.
Just two weeks hence.
Day 185 / Z-Day 150
Monday 17 June
Brussels – 0001 hours
Forbes, SACEUR and the head of the CIA stood in silence for several seconds before the Admiral spoke:
‘What does this mean, Professor?’
‘Until I examine him – or even talk to him – I'm not sure. It could be one of several things. Firstly, he could be recovering and returning to his old self – although I doubt that outcome! Alternatively, it could the pre-cursor to the final development into a mutant. We've never observed the full transformation before. My guess is that it is a temporary phase before he dies. To be frank, I'm hoping that this is the case – although I now doubt it. He shouldn’t be awake without any symptoms. It's puzzling.’
The Director of the CIA was first to respond:
‘Well, I suggest that you return to the decontamination centre, John.’
‘Of course, sir. But there is one issue on which I need clarification – did you read the report on the possibility of survivors in the UK. The enclaves under attack?’
The Director looked momentarily embarrassed, but recovered his composure rapidly.
‘Ah, yes, John. I have read the assessment and reconnaissance has been
increased in the specific areas of interest. We are dealing with the problem and an Operation to help these people has been launched. But keep it under your hat, John – we don’t really need any further panic or another media frenzy!’
Forbes looked relieved.
‘Thank you Director. That lifts a great weight from my shoulders. I’d better be returning to Abraham de Silva. I'll report back at the morning meeting. Goodnight, gentlemen.’
John Forbes took his leave and when he was out of earshot, SACEUR gave the CIA man a withering stare.
‘Why in God’s name did you tell him that? There is no such Operation and there never will be. I am not going to risk the lives of any more of my men in a futile cause. You know that – we've spoken at length about it.’
‘I know that Admiral – but I don’t want Forbes losing his concentration by worrying about a few stragglers in Britain. His priority is clear. I don’t want him spreading news of these additional survivors or asking awkward questions. In any case, we haven’t got the resources to fight two hundred separate battles to rescue an unknown and probably insignificant number of people.’
The Admiral seemed pacified by this explanation.
‘I'm in complete agreement, Director. But we need to keep an eye on Forbes. If news of our decision gets out, then the shit will hit the fan. I cannot imagine that Lord Irvine will agree with our position – or come to that – will the President?’
The Director of the CIA rubbed his eyes with fatigue.
‘Let me deal with that, Admiral. Forbes will not open his mouth. He’ll be watched very carefully. I will speak to him personally and reassure him – and reinforce the need for secrecy. In any case, the man is dispensable – I have two others positioned to take over if he proves too troublesome. Don’t worry Admiral – everything is under control…..goodnight.’
Day 185 / Z-Day 150
Monday 17th June
Marbella, Spain
Brady and his newly restored daughter, Chloe, were relaxing in Albert’s Bar and Grill in Cabopino Port, near Marbella. They had enjoyed one of the chef’s superb breakfasts, and were now digesting the astonishing news from half a dozen English language newspapers. The Spanish sun was beating down and had already reached 30 degrees C by 1130am. Fortunately, the pair had seats in the shade.
Brady was in deep shock.
‘I cannot believe what is going on. At first I thought that it was some sort of elaborate hoax – but clearly it is all deadly serious – and I mean deadly.’
Chloe was transfixed by the reports coming out of Brussels.
‘It's unbelievable. Zombies! Mutants! How can they possibly exist?’
‘Clearly they now do, Clo. And it looks like panic is beginning to set in. These reports are depicting thousands of refugees heading eastwards and the Russians are sabre rattling with a vengeance. Where is it all going to end? Is Spain at risk? It says here that these creatures can travel under water. If that is true, then nowhere is safe.’
‘I still can't believe it – I'm just glad that Chris and his family are safe in California. I wonder where my mother is? No doubt, she has managed to secure herself a safe haven – spending her ill-gotten gains without a care in the world,’ sneered Chloe.
Brady didn’t disagree with Chloe’s assessment. He also believed that Ann would be looking after Number One – herself, but he didn’t have time to worry himself about her welfare – he had Chloe’s interests to consider. Her safety and wellbeing was his primary aim. It always would be from here on in.
‘What are we going to do?’ mused Chloe, breaking Brady’s train of thought.
Brady was philosophical.
‘Well, there's no point in doing anything rash. We may as well stay here. If we do take the minority share in Jorge’s Bar, we can keep ourselves interested until we find something more challenging. We could travel if we so choose – but I don’t see the point of returning to Western Europe. Unless the Armed Forces get a grip and defeat the mutant advance – who knows what will happen. Perhaps Spain will come under threat in due course and then we will have to make a decision of some kind – but by then the world will be in complete turmoil, and it might be too late to escape. Possibly we should make a move sooner rather than later. We should keep a very close eye on events. Maybe we should invest some of our ill-gotten gains in a huge yacht and take to the high seas? In fact that would be a great idea…I'm going to look into it. There are some big boats for sale in Puerto Banus.’
Chloe had stopped listening to Brady as Sky News which was blasting out on the restaurant TV had distracted her. The anchor man was in full flow:
‘Breaking news. Sky News understands that the mutant threat in Ireland – or Erin as it has been renamed – which was revealed over the weekend, has slowed down. Reports from Limerick and Brussels are indicating that the mutant advance has actually stalled. There is no immediate explanation, but this news could have a significant impact on the potential threat to Western Europe.’
The report continued as Chloe turned to Brady and smiled with relief.
‘Well, that seems to be good news. I knew it would all be a false alarm!’
‘We’ll have to wait and see, Clo. If these reports of over a million mutants massing in Britain are true, then the threat is certainly a real one. When we receive reports of a similar nature from the UK, I’ll be prepared to believe that the menace may have receded.’
Chloe frowned.
‘So we’ll stay here for the time being and take up a watching brief. There's certainly enough information coming from Brussels. Perhaps all of this will just ‘go away’. But I do like your idea of buying a boat. Shall we drive over to Puerto Banus to look at a few of those biggies?’
‘So you were listening – we’ll do just that this afternoon.’
However, Brady was not so confident about a permanent resolution of the mutant threat in France.
‘Even if the mutants are defeated, we still need to concern ourselves with Lord Irvine and his quest to find us – and your mother. Clearly, we have dropped down his list of priorities for the time being, but if this mutant threat is overwhelmed and he relocates to Breton, he will surely refresh his efforts to find us. I believe he holds a serious and enduring grudge. But, for the time being, I agree. And since it is now midday – can I interest you in a cocktail?’
Chloe nodded and so Brady summoned the waitress and ordered a couple of Mojitos.
For the time being, he could afford to adopt a policy of inaction.
For the time being, they were relatively safe in Spain.
For the time being.
***
Mount Everest Basecamp – Nepal
Monday 17th June
Ross Bryant sat in silence, his thoughts his own.
The small tent that he shared with four other climbers was cold – very cold – however June was a good month to make the ascent to 29,029 feet. He was waiting his turn to continue the attempt to conquer Mount Everest and the reports of the chaos in Western Europe were a distinct distraction. They had already lost three members of the team, who had summarily returned to their families under the wholly misguided belief that they could do anything to change the situation.
Ex-Lieutenant Bryant could easily picture the bedlam in the Channel countries as the truth of the potential disaster leaked out to the general public. He really couldn’t see the point of returning to a no-win scenario. Either he would be captured and incarcerated for his part in the ‘Great Gold Grab’ or he would probably be devoured by those bloody zombies.
Zombies indeed!
He was finding it very difficult to visualise the concept of ‘zombies’, but clearly there was a perceived threat to Western Europe – the UN was not in the habit of joking about these things.
The population of the Indian sub-continent was slightly ambivalent at this early stage. Europe was a long way away, and a vague and relatively unbelievable threat to their security was a low priority. Life generally just plodded along as
usual.
Europe was also a low priority for Ross Bryant.
He had changed his identity and squirrelled away his share of the gold booty in a Hong Kong Bank, and his psychologically fragile wife was safely ensconced in an expensive duplex apartment in Happy Valley. She had been content for Ross to buy his way onto an Everest expedition at short notice – taking the place of a last minute ‘zombie’ drop out at an exorbitant fee. The waiting list for Everest places was years long, but £100,000 jumped him easily to the front of the queue. His climbing and fitness pedigree was beyond dispute, so he found himself sitting at basecamp, listening to the newly activated BBC World Service – which was now renamed the UK Breton World Service transmitting from Brussels.
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