“Which was?” asked Sophie.
“We changed the system. When I say we I mean my generation of politicians ... not just BIP, but Labour, most Conservatives and many smaller parties. So the higher taxes, roll back of globalisation and limiting automation and AI were all designed to avoid the coming catastrophe. Not everyone agreed of course. Many of the old elite did very well out of the old system of low taxes, low pay and elimination of jobs by technology. Many of them were Russians actually. Russians living it up in London on their ill-gotten gains. I fear Hardcastle, Zane and Becker might—and I stress might—be trying to return the country to the bad old days. It’s one theory anyway.”
Khan said, “It could still be the Russians.”
“Indeed. If I’ve learnt anything about Demenok and his cronies, it’s this: never underestimate what they’ll do to get their way. We need that American help pronto—or the Europeans if they ever manage to make a decision...”
19
Sunday, February 19th, 2045 7:30am: Roman Sinclair’s Home, St. Andrews, Scotland
The magnificent Atherton House was completed in 1850 and was a renowned example of Victorian grandeur. Its stone walls and slate roof contained two floors and seven bedrooms, an oak-panelled drawing room and ornate formal dining hall. As well as the summerhouse, the outbuildings included quarters for his maid-cum-chef and gardener-cum-handyman. Sinclair could have afforded a considerably grander abode, but he liked its character and central location near the town. The house was a small fraction of the four-hundred million pound fortune he’d amassed from his company, E-Vision Entertainment. Besides, he was a bachelor and so seven bedrooms was an extravagance. What had sold it to him were its splendid views out to the West Sands and the Old Course. Some things just couldn’t be simulated by his implanted computer. When he wasn’t running his business or engrossed in his company’s latest video game he liked nothing better than a round or two of golf—a game synonymous with St Andrews.
The balding forty-three-year-old felt his flabby middle aged spread and got ready to join his guests for breakfast downstairs. He’d finally gotten his eyes corrected six months ago and was still getting used to it. He looked in the mirror and sometimes wished he’d kept the specs—they hid his dark circles better. Too much time playing video games, he thought, turning to leave the bathroom mirror behind. His ‘girlfriends’ didn’t seem to mind anyway. The ones he saw in real life. The ones he associated with using his implanted computer system via the internet could be anywhere or anyone. He couldn’t exactly complain about people using super-attractive avatars—he did it himself and was not an adherent to the True You movement in the online virtual dating community.
He’d enjoyed the company of Zane and Hardcastle over the past few days. They were part of The Faithful too. Like minds, and, when they permitted, all seamlessly connected. He knew that soon the day-of-days would be upon him and the other Faithful. He neared the base of the oak-wood banister and crossed the broad, wood-panelled hallway into the formal dining room.
Cherrel, his Filipino help, had set the table and served coffee to the two casually dressed men at the far end. The large bay window framed the walled front garden and the gravel drive where Zane’s aero-car still sat. Both Zane and Hardcastle rose to meet their host, smiling brotherly smiles. After their morning greetings, Sinclair joined them, pouring himself coffee as the breakfast appeared. They waited for Cherrel to disappear, Sinclair instructing her not to return until they opened the door.
They sat there silently and established ICS thought communications. Colonel Becker—still physically in Wales—joined them in their virtual mind-conference.
Hardcastle said, “So, let’s first have an update from you, Thomas.”
“Certainly,” said Becker. “The Faithful have done their jobs well—both here with me and the dozens we have around the country. The Plan is going … well, to plan.”
“Some specifics, please.”
“Of course. Out of the five hundred and eighty bombings, only two went awry: the one at the Welsh Assembly building failed to detonate. And the whole lot went off ten minutes early at VX—”
“VX?”
“Vauxhall Cross—home—or should I say former home—of MI6. Didn’t matter anyway. The snipers were busy over central London that evening. Got quite a few HVTs.”
Hardcastle said, “But not the prime minister…”
“No, not your friend, Faraday.”
“Never mind,” said Zane. “He won’t be a problem. Please continue, Thomas.”
“Yes, so after the bombings came phase two of The Plan: securing targets with our new army. And I must just say: they are so much more obedient than the old army!” He started laughing, seemingly high on his newfound power.
Sinclair said, “Once we control the country, there won’t be any populist sentiment turning the army against us, that’s for sure!”
Hardcastle said, “Let the man speak, for goodness sake!”
“Okay,” continued Becker, “I’m pleased to say that ninety-nine percent of all Tier 1 objectives have been secured and ninety-five percent of Tier 2. Really all that remains in the UK are pockets of resistance. I’ve still got 224,300 Centurions and 16,120 Sentinels operational, which equates to only around ten percent losses so far. All are responding well to my commands and those of the other nine here with me. Tactical order dispersion seems to be working nicely, Roman. Is that what you see?”
Sinclair said, “We’ll be over at the campus later this morning, but, yes, I’d have to agree with you … better than I dreamed possible really!”
“Before we all get too cocky,” said Zane, “I’d like to point out what Khan reported to us last night—all that dataflow from the middle of nowhere in Wales has been noticed by GCHQ who’ve passed it onto MI5.”
Sinclair looked at Zane, whose face was stony in its seriousness. He was the only one not smiling, which drained the energy from Hardcastle and Sinclair’s beaming grins too. Perhaps this breach was more serious that Sinclair thought. He decided to just listen.
“Let me reiterate what Khan said,” continued Zane. “An officer called Sophie Walsh, who’s with Khan, was speaking to a GCHQ analyst named Jian Yu. This young man has flagged the data traffic coming from your location in Wales and traced it to somewhere—as yet undefined—in Scotland. It’s only a matter of time until they find out where exactly—”
Becker interrupted, “So that is why I’ve had Shawcross trying to recall us from the field. They may have us under surveillance—but I’ve had drones of my own keeping watch and I’ve seen nothing yet.”
Zane said, “Well, that may well be true, but the bottom line is they’re leaning away from the Russian theory towards the domestic coup scenario.”
“Which leads me back to what I was saying,” said Becker. “Our military power in this country is now unrivalled. But then there’s external power—British in the form of the Navy and foreign powers too. Now I’m not concerned about the Royal Navy. Of the handful of ships anywhere near here only HMS Intrepid has a significant ground force—about two thousand marines.”
Hardcastle said, “But we can handle that … right?”
“Yes, we have more than enough, even if they employ their air wing effectively. It’s foreign powers we need to think about of course. I’ve not assimilated Khan’s report yet. Nobody takes the EU’s military seriously, but what of the Americans and Russians?”
“You’re right about the EU,” said Hardcastle. “They’ve been dithering ever since they were asked and our sources say nothing’s doing there. Demenok has had plans on the full-scale invasion of Britain for a long time and there’s … let’s say some robust conversations going on in the Kremlin right now. However, our sources say that they think the Russians will sit it out. Ultimately, they’re shit scared of a strategic nuclear response from the SSBNs the Royal Navy still has at sea.”
“And the Americans?”
“Oh, I haven’t forgotten about our cousins ac
ross the pond,” said Hardcastle. “The wonderful thing is that we have the most trusted Malik Khan right at the heart of our exile government’s negotiations. In fact—as I pointed out to him—as Home Secretary, he is the most senior politician in that government save for Faraday.”
Sinclair smiled as the possibility dawned on him. He said, “It’d be a crying shame if anything happened to Prime Minister Faraday, wouldn’t it!”
Hardcastle chuckled and said, “Yes, it would! I mean, who else would the Americans then have to deal with?”
Zane said, “Okay, so Khan’s got a plan for that. But what if he fails? I’m not sure we have the forces to deal with a full-scale American invasion.”
Becker laughed and said, “Full-scale American invasion? Ha, not likely. They won’t want to get embroiled in this thing. They’re more isolationist than they’ve been for any time since before World War I! They won’t want another Vietnam or Iraq or Afghanistan. It’d be a bloodbath—they know it and we know it. It’s one of the main reasons that this thing has even been possible!”
“You’re right, Thomas,” said Hardcastle. “Khan tells us what they are considering sending and it’s limited—although I’ll be surprised if they send any ground troops as a first step.”
Becker said, “Well if they don’t then they won’t take the country from us—an air force or navy alone won’t hold on to territory.”
They were satisfied they’d consolidate their power enough to reveal themselves soon. And the politicians in The Westminster Circle were standing by in London ready to be led by the president-in-waiting, President Hardcastle. It would restore the natural order of things: discipline for the masses, a strong military and a return to the free market. In time, the country would secure the Middle East and North Africa with the new army, unlocking the energy riches and market of the region to exploit.
***
After breakfast, they crunched out across the gravel driveway and into Zane’s aero-car. The trip to the Dundee Campus of E-Vision would take just five minutes. MI5 and GCHQ were hunting them, but they only needed a little longer. A little longer until they wiped out all resistance including that of Prime Minister Faraday.
PART THREE
20
It is only the enlightened ruler and the wise general who will use the highest intelligence of the army for the purposes of spying, and thereby they achieve great results.
Sun Tzu
Sunday, February 19th, 2045 9:30am EST: Camp David, MD, United States
Camp David was the country retreat of the President of the United States, located in wooded hills a hundred kilometres north-northwest of Washington, DC. Situated in Catoctin Mountain Park, the Secret Service and U.S. Marine Corps kept its heavily wooded surrounds secure. Double fencing, guard towers, surveillance drones and an array of sensors to put the Starship Enterprise to shame surrounded the compound. The USAF, as well as the on-site fleet of interceptor drones and the three SAM batteries sited at secret locations, provided round-the-clock air cover. That Faraday, Khan, Douglas-Smith, Shawcross, Sophie and their aides were spirited here in the dead of night underlined the security fears they and their hosts had. The specially chartered spaceplane had flown them straight out of Valkenburg Naval Air Base in the Netherlands, courtesy of the Dutch government. However, no one but the exiled PM and his delegation were on the plane, such were their fears of a bombing or interception by the powerful forces at work. Apart from offers of humanitarian aid, it seemed the Dutch and the EU were steering well clear. The British Ambassador to the EU had even heard some disturbing talk implying that certain quarters there were actually pleased to see what had happened. Bitterness over the UK’s departure from the EU still ran deep. Though Sophie was no politico, even she was surprised to hear this.
She watched as the perfectly turned-out Secretary of State, Hilary Claiborne, regally sailed into the chestnut adorned conference room flanked by her entourage. The ash-blonde, mid-fifties Claiborne wore a light-coloured collarless blazer and matching skirt. Her blue eyes seemed hawkish and intelligent to Sophie—even slightly intimidating if she was honest about it. Faraday, looking tired and far less statesmanlike than he had done, went over to greet Secretary Claiborne. Khan, Shawcross, Douglas-Smith and the rest of them arose too.
Claiborne said, with a warm smile and outstretched hand, “Welcome to Camp David and welcome to the United States, Prime Minister.”
“Thank you, Mrs Claiborne,” he said. “You can call me Nigel.”
“Perfect! And you can call me Hilary.”
Oh dear, thought Sophie at what she considered nauseating falseness. She knew better than to say anything, tempted as she was.
“I’m afraid the president can’t be with us,” Claiborne explained. “As you may know, he is recuperating from his illness in Hawaii.”
“And how is his recovery coming along?”
“We hope to have him back in Washington by the end of the month. Please take a seat and we can get started. We certainly have a lot on our agenda, don’t we, Nigel?”
“Yes we do,” he said sombrely.
“George, please read out our agenda,” said Claiborne to the aide sitting on her right.
“Certainly Madam Secretary,” he said stiffly.
He went through the various issues, from safety of US personnel in Britain to refugees to disruption to trade and so on. But only one thing mattered to Faraday and the British at that point: that of military and intelligence assistance.
“So your request is a little ... shall we say woolly?” she said. “Perhaps Admiral Shawcross can tell General Ollington and the rest if us what you need exactly.”
Shawcross looked to Faraday, who nodded and said, “As we agreed…”
Shawcross said, “We have to be honest with you here, our woolly request is because our intel is now patchy to say the least. I’m not sure you fully comprehend what this coup attempt has done to—”
Claiborne put up her palm, “Please, Admiral … a couple of things. One: we fully appreciate the extent of your predicament and we know where you’re going with this—you need our intel first before you can frame your assistance request. Yes, yes we know all that. Second, before you continue, would you stop referring to it as a coup attempt? It is no longer an attempt—it’s a lot worse than that!”
Shawcross flushed red.
Faraday stepped in. “So what do you have for us, intel-wise?”
Both CIA and NSA representatives appeared on the video wall simultaneously, like clockwork. Sophie looked on thinking what a slick operation they were running. She knew better than any of them how MI5, MI6 and GCHQ had taken such a battering they were no longer operational to any significant degree. Any work their officers and agents were still doing was mainly through personal initiative, like Jian Yu, who she hoped to talk to sometime later that day. She waited to hear what the American agencies had to say. If they didn’t already know about the Jian Yu findings linking data traffic from Colonel Becker’s unit in Wales to somewhere in Scotland then she’d certainly raise it.
The CIA rep—a woman named Beth Collins—seemed to be doing all the talking. Her well-defined face was neither old nor young. Sophie thought her thick horned-rimmed glasses suited her, and lent an air of intelligence that she clearly deserved. Soon it became plain that they did indeed know about Jian Yu’s theory. Whether they discovered it independently or not, they didn’t say. As usual, everything was on a need-to-know basis.
Collins said, “To cut a long story short, we buy into this theory of Becker somehow controlling the robots. We are having some success in narrowing down where this data traffic is ending up in Scotland—somewhere in Tayside. That’s about as refined as we have it right now.”
Claiborne said, looking from Faraday to Shawcross, “So what action have you taken to contact or otherwise find out what this Colonel Becker and his unit are doing? They were supposed to be on exercise if I am not mistaken…”
Shawcross said, “Madam Secretary, we’ve tri
ed recalling him—they’ve gone dark—”
“And your next step is?”
“We’re sending a surveillance drone in advance of an SAS team… We’re hoping it won’t come to that…”
Claiborne and General Ollington nodded, seemingly in agreement with this; although Sophie sat there wondering what type of SAS team would be able to take out an entire battalion of six hundred Paras if it came to it. Assuming they’d gone hostile.
“What else do you have for us Beth?” asked Claiborne.
“We’re glad to hear that Becker is being followed up,” said Collins, “but we need to understand where in Scotland and who are controlling these two-hundred thousand units. We’ve looked at the specs for them and there is simply no way they’re AI-capable aside from basic coordination of movement ... running, climbing and the like. They’re certainly not thinking machines so need a whole lot of humans somewhere.”
Sophie raised her eyebrows at this level of technical insight from Collins. Although they still considered the US a friend, that didn’t preclude mutual spying.. Counter-espionage was one of MI5’s primary roles and it looked like the CIA had got one over on them on this count. It ended up being of mutual interest in this case, but it had dented her professional pride a little. She didn’t let on though—she wouldn’t give Collins the satisfaction.
Faraday looked to Sophie for answers. Domestic intel was MI5’s game, although they all knew how devastated the organisation was after the attacks. She felt a bit out of her depth now. If only Ashley was here… He’d know what to say, she thought. She knew they needed the Americans’ help and she was just going to have to swallow her pride and ask.
She said, “As you know, the UK’s Security Service has been devastated by the attacks and it’ll be some time before we can regroup. Contacting officers on the ground in Scotland later today will be my priority. So far, we—well, I, really—have no candidate locations or groups that could have done this. We know Becker has links with Victor Zane and John Hardcastle and suspect he is in league with them. They’ve gone off grid and would be yet another lead to follow up once we get back on our—”
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