Out on the water, Riley began to shiver, her trousers soaked to the thigh. Beyond the shelter of the cliff, she could see the wind on the water, waves sweeping between the rock stacks from the English Channel. Riley blinked against the spray, as the RIB accelerated past the first of the rocks as the wind gusted, stronger now.
In the distance she spotted two lone figures hurrying up the stone steps to the lighthouse’s blue door, the rowing boat abandoned, floating back on a painter secured to a mooring ring.
The rigid inflatable reached the base of the stairs just in time to see Donnelly and Flynn disappear within the blue door. The helm wasted precious seconds, trying to time his approach, waiting for a lull in the waves. Their bow bumped gently against the bottom step and the group leapt ashore. Jones set to work battering against the locked door with the butt of his rifle. Riley took shelter behind the rock, catching her breath, staring up at the iconic red and white lighthouse, towering vertically some one hundred feet above their heads. Its sides were straight and circular, made of granite blocks, topped by a metal lattice enclosing the optics and lamps. She stared at the helipad on top of the lighthouse, wondering whether this had been their planned escape route all along.
Her fingers traced contours and grooves on the rock wall. Hundreds of names and shapes carved in the stone. A mermaid, skull and crossbones, a man’s face, graffiti from decades, maybe centuries, of lighthouse keepers and visitors to the Needles Rocks.
The door finally yielded, its wood splintered and cracked, the upper section torn from its hinges. Jones shouldered his weapon and raced up the spiral stairs. Riley hesitated on the bottom step, holding the green-painted rail with one hand. From the open doorway behind came the sound of a helicopter. She ducked outside, peering in all directions to locate the source, expecting to see the familiar shape of the Seahawk. Approaching along the southern coast of the island from Freshwater, she spotted one of the Royal Navy Merlins, flying perilously close to the cliff face, skimming the waves from the direction of Ventnor.
The Chester and her escorts would have no way of knowing. The towering cliffs shielded the helicopter from view as it came into a hover not fifty feet from where Riley stood. She raced up the spiral steps to find the others.
Chapter 59
One by one, the gun emplacements hidden within the cliff face fell silent, allowing the Chester’s Seahawk, carrying the colonel and Zed, to touch down long enough to deposit their marine guard on the grass beside the car park. The four men were to link up with Sergeant Jones and secure the Old Battery against further attack.
The helicopter lifted off again, sweeping down over Alum Bay, circling the convoy. The captain of the UN container ship Tahima requested they inspect the catastrophic damage to her starboard quarter, as she limped on. Peterson listened carefully to the emergency procedures the Tahima’s crew had already taken to rebalance the ship and stem the flooding, sealing all watertight doors. As the American signed off with a heart-felt message of good luck, he grimaced, admitting to the colonel. “It’s touch and go whether they make it.”
He directed the pilot back towards the Needles Passage where the Chester had remained on station, mopping up any remaining resistance from Flynn’s men. Even from a distance, a thick plume of smoke trailed in the US warship’s wake. The Seahawk came into a hover amidships where fire teams equipped with long hoses sprayed the flames engulfing her main deck. Zed counted three hits to her superstructure, one of which had only partially detonated. They finished their visual inspection, touching down to refuel and pick up four more marines. A faint voice crackled in Zed’s headset as Sergeant Jones requested the Chester’s RIB pick them up, reporting a possible sighting of Major Donnelly.
They cut short the refuelling, racing back towards the Needles, skimming the waves. In the cockpit, the co-pilot pointed at something on the far side of the rocks. It wasn’t immediately clear what he had seen. Then Zed saw it too. The flash of light reflecting off a windshield, the tail rotor of what Peterson said was a Royal Navy Merlin, sequestered behind the Needles. The co-pilot began hailing them. The helicopter gained altitude, emerging from its concealment, rising up the side of the lighthouse, as if manoeuvring to land.
A hatchway lid flew open on the helipad as two figures clambered out, bracing themselves against the gusting wind. The Merlin pivoted around, nose into the breeze, ignoring the Seahawk’s warning. Peterson swung the mini-gun back into position.
A series of increasingly frantic radio exchanges followed, both sides warning each other to stay clear. Zed could see the figures on top of the lighthouse more clearly now. Flynn and Donnelly. The major carried two heavy-looking cases, the same design Doctor Hardy used to transport vaccine samples. Sergeant Flynn beckoned the Merlin closer, almost within touching distance, ramp lowered. Donnelly thought about throwing the cases aboard, but it was a long drop on to the rocks if he missed.
The colonel grabbed Peterson’s headset, appealing directly to the Merlin pilot. “This is Colonel Peter J. Armstrong, Commander in Chief, British Armed Forces. This is a direct order. Stand down immediately or we will open fire.”
There was a moment’s hesitation as Zed held his breath, neither side blinking, wondering whether Lieutenant Peterson really had the nerve to shoot down a British helicopter. To everyone’s relief, the Merlin’s engines increased to full power, widening the gap, to the obvious displeasure of Major Donnelly, screaming into his radio to countermand that order. The helicopter banked away, heading back the way they came over Scratchell’s Bay towards Ventnor.
The Seahawk took its place, hovering low enough to deposit the colonel and Zed on the helipad facing Donnelly. Flynn gripped the stock of his SA80 a little tighter, mindful Peterson had zeroed the mini-gun on his chest.
“Give it up, Major.” The Colonel’s arm was raised as if the slightest motion of his hand would result in obliteration. “It’s over. This finishes here.”
“On the contrary, Colonel. This is only the beginning.”
“Lay down your weapon, Sergeant,” ordered the colonel, eyeballing Flynn, who reluctantly placed the rifle on the ground. “I’ll take those,” said the colonel, gesturing at the suitcases. The Seahawk drifted back, out over Christchurch Bay, allowing them to speak without shouting.
“Stopping me changes nothing. You think these are the only ones?” mocked Donnelly, sliding over the suitcases. “Mine was a supporting role. A tiny cog in a bigger machine. There are thousands more, just like me.”
“Not any more. You’re the last one left.” Zed couldn’t be sure whether the colonel was bluffing or not. “We’ve been tracking Phoenix for years.”
Donnelly’s self-assurance didn’t falter. “Phoenix’s failure counts for nothing. There were dozens of other groups just like Phoenix, people who believed in a different future, but you already knew that, didn’t you, Colonel?”
“You miscalculated, overestimated your chances of success. Didn’t anyone teach you never to underestimate an opponent?”
“Success, failure? None of this matters any more. The island, St Mary’s, even Porton Down were just pinpricks of light within the fire of a sun.”
“Is this really the future you dreamed of? The mass extermination of innocent men, women and children? Billions dead. The world as we know it, destroyed.”
“Innocent?” scoffed Donnelly. “Overpopulation was killing our planet. We simply gave evolution a helping hand. The pandemic was the natural solution.” Donnelly smiled at the double meaning. “Rebalancing our planet towards sustainability. Phoenix simply pruned the excess, making way for what is to come.”
“The White Angel, Joseph Mengele, said something similar.”
“This isn’t about race or religion.”
“No, but your achievement will rank alongside the Holocaust. A defining moment for mankind, and for you,” said the colonel, his tone almost reverential. A silent respect passed between the two men. Zed imagined the colonel was goading Donnelly, inviting him to reveal his han
d, perhaps playing to his ego.
“Revolution is never without sacrifice. History will judge our actions. Not you. A decentralised organisation like ours has no leader. That’s what makes us unstoppable.”
“Starting a war is easy, Major, you’ll find victory is much harder to come by.”
“Victory is no more an illusion than the peace you crave, Colonel. Every one of us distorts the truth to get what we want.”
“When you started to believe your own propaganda, you lost the ability to tell the difference.”
“Actions are what count. The time for political debate is over. For all the promises of combating climate change, spineless politicians changed nothing. The world required a more radical solution. The boldness of Project Phoenix will echo through history. A new generation will cheer our sacrifice. Humankind will emerge cleansed, ready to thrive again. ”
The colonel laughed in Donnelly’s face, shaking his head. “You still think you’re a martyr to the cause?” he mocked.
“Whether I live or die makes no difference. I’ve played my part. My life has no meaning any more. What happens next is up to others.”
“Men like Hardy? You couldn’t have got this far without his help.”
“Hardy?” Donnelly scoffed. “A credulous fool. Loyalty is a fickle mistress. In his line of work, it pays not to ask too many questions. Hardy did as he was told. Nothing more. History will remember those of us who dared to take a stand. Those who made all this possible.”
“It’s a shame no one will ever know the part you played in this tawdry tale. I’ll make sure your name is deleted, erased forever. Written out of our collective history. Doctor Hardy will be credited with all your awards and medals. If they remember you at all, those who come after, they will know you as a traitor. A man who betrayed his nation, committed genocide. Executed for treason.”
Donnelly’s evergreen smile seemed to wane a little, pride wounded perhaps more than he cared to admit, but the moment of vulnerability didn’t last long. “If I’m guilty, we all are. A man with your connections, Colonel? You could’ve stopped Phoenix years ago, but you didn’t. You all turned a blind eye.” He reserved the most scorn for Zed. “As for you, Samuels, how many thousands of Iraqis died because of your deceit? You were just as much a part of Phoenix as anyone. All those lies told by Rockingham, a nation sleepwalking into war. Your confession. You can’t sweep all that back under the carpet.”
“Kelly always knew what you intended, didn’t he?” suggested Zed. “He tried to warn the world, but you silenced him before he had the chance.”
“Kelly was an irritant, nothing more. He lacked the vision to understand the good in what we were trying to do. Inviting the inspectors into Porton Down, advocating for stricter controls? He should have known the consequences of what he started.”
“His was a lone voice warning what would happen, but no one listened. He was the real harbinger. He knew what those Iraqi pathogen samples represented. Were they to fall into the wrong hands...”
“The wrong hands?” interrupted Donnelly. “Kelly failed in his primary responsibility, to exercise good judgement. Don’t you think it’s ironic? Our politicians spent the last hundred years lecturing other countries about democracy, the rule of law, ethics, morality, yet we’re the ones who got ourselves into this awful mess.”
“Is that why scientists took matters into their own hands?” asked the colonel.
“Politicians could no longer be trusted. Bold new thinking was required. We had no choice. The end justified the means.”
“But you miscalculated, underestimated those around you, the fighting spirit of the good people of this country.”
Donnelly laughed. “You still can’t see what’s staring you in the face, can you? The virus, the island, the convoy. This was all part of Phoenix’s plan.”
“It was always flawed, but you persisted.”
“You people think fighting a war with disease is beneath you, but the cost-benefit analysis is what matters. Is it really any different to the atomic weapons President Truman dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki? He knew that whatever the terrible human cost, the decision would ultimately shorten the war and save the lives of countless American servicemen. All we did was make revolution less bloody by optimising a natural process.”
“No, you hijacked nature for your own purposes,” argued Zed. “The war you started is never ending, self-perpetuating, impossible to control. This virus can’t be stopped. It doesn’t respect borders, it kills everyone, indiscriminately.”
“We knew the risks. Accepted them willingly. When this period of transition is complete, natural order will be restored. As Charles Darwin so rightly predicted, those best able to adapt to change will survive.”
“You played God with people’s lives. One way or another, you will all face justice for what you did.”
The hatchway behind them flew open and Sergeant Jones and his men clambered onto the roof, weapons raised, denying Flynn and Donnelly their last means of escape.
“Give it up, Major” appealed the colonel. “I’ll ensure you’re treated fairly.”
Donnelly edged back, shaking his head, glancing over his shoulder through the cargo netting at the crashing waves below. Flynn remained rooted to the spot, perhaps resigned to his fate, seeing the new arrivals. Sergeant Jones inched closer, ready to grab the major’s arm and haul him back to safety.
Donnelly didn’t hesitate. With a wry smile, he took another step towards the precipice. His heel half-slipped on the metal lip, arms wheeling, falling backwards. Jones dived towards him, grappling at thin air, a fraction of a second too late. Zed inched to the edge, as close as he dared, getting down on his hands and knees, expecting to see the major’s body floating face down in the maelstrom of white water and foam at the base of the lighthouse, but there was no sign of him. Donnelly was gone.
Chapter 60
“Where are we going?” protested Terra, struggling to keep up with Briggs and Copper as they hurried down Lymington waterfront to the marina where the crew of the Sheridan waited impatiently to cast off. The other rebel leaders from Walhampton School and the hospital were already onboard. Terra stopped in her tracks, throwing her bags on the slatted jetty in a fit of temper.
“Just shut up and get on the damn boat,” shouted Briggs, picking up her suitcase and rucksack and physically dragging her on.
“Not until someone tells me what’s going on.”
“Can’t you hear that?” Briggs angled his head towards the distant noise of battle. Intermittent exchanges of artillery, the chattering of machine guns carried on the wind. “That’s the sound of change. The arrival of an unstoppable force.” She found it impossibly irritating whenever he attempted to be poetic, as if being cryptic somehow made him appear more intelligent, mysterious even. Any other time she would have found him laughable, but not when he was being obtuse about something so important. She caught up with Copper, pawing at his sleeve.
“What’s going on? Please, just tell me. I thought we agreed a ceasefire?”
“What don’t you understand? The Allies are so busy fighting with each other, everyone’s looking the other way. This is our chance.”
He handed the bags to one of the Sheridan’s crew and stepped across the narrow gap, reaching back to haul Terra on board. She adjusted the folds of her floral ankle-length dress, tying her hair back into a ponytail in anticipation of the wind and spray once they hit open water. She found Briggs inside, getting ready for their departure.
“Then we’re going back to Carisbrooke Castle?” He didn’t bother answering. “Was that your price for supporting the Colonel?”
“The Allies are moving north to support the UN relief operation. I’ve agreed to serve as interim Governor to get the locals back on side.” Terra blinked in open-mouthed astonishment, waiting for him to continue. “See, I told you I’d get my island back.”
“My God. But that’s incredible,” she admitted in surprise, hugging him tightly, notic
ing how smug he had become.
“Then it’s true what they say? You’ve been working with the Colonel all this time?” Her question seemed to catch Briggs off guard, noticing his confusion, gears turning, perhaps wondering how much she really knew. She pressed her advantage. “When I saw you talking to him at the hospital, I knew, instantly. You can’t hide something like that.” Terra didn’t dare use the word whistle-blower or informant.
His violence surprised her, grabbing her by the hair and pulling her face close to his.
“I warned you to keep your bloody nose out of my business.” He snarled, bringing a knife to bear under her chin. “Do you know what they do to scum who snitch? Do you? They cut their tongues out,” he said, forcing the knife between her lips, “put them in a box, post them back to their families so everyone knows what they did.”
Terra pulled back, freeing herself from his grasp. “Wait. That’s not what I meant,” she appealed, backtracking, her voice softer, “I know you, babe. You never betrayed anyone in your life.”
“Damn right.”
“Then why are you helping this Colonel now?” she asked, thinking about the years he spent in Parkhurst, wondering why, unlike every other ex-con she’d met, he never talked about his conviction. She gambled, remembering her conversation with the colonel. “You helped catch al-Nazridi?”
The name seemed to give Briggs pause. He released her from his grip, looking out of the window as the Sheridan took in her lines and pushed off.
The Hurst Chronicles | Book 4 | Harbinger Page 45