Day Zero

by James Swallow

  “No. My life is here. What about the others?”

  Mostly keeping quiet. You know the drill – complete comms black out.

  “Am I in danger?” she asked, softly.

  I wouldn’t have recommended that you leave if you weren’t.

  “How much time do I have?”

  Unknown. If you’re careful, they might never find you at all.

  “Comforting,” Hannah muttered. “Why is all this happening now? What’s going on?”

  Unknown. Again, I recommend you go to ground, post haste.

  “I’ll take it under advisement.” She paused. “That information we got from Holden… has it come to anything yet?”

  Ah. Now there, I might have better news for you. The man in the photo is named Art Coyle – though that’s an alias. I traced the number to an obvious shell corporation with offices in a certain infamous building at the heart of the financial district.

  Hannah thought quickly, as the data downloaded to her Optik. “Is… is Olly still alive?” She knew Liz was dead. Krish had told her that much, the last time they’d spoken. But if Olly was still out there…

  Oliver is in Albion custody, much like Krish and the others.

  “Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” She sat for a moment. Then, in a small voice, “Is anyone left?”

  A few. Enough. Bagley paused. Hannah, I’m patching you through to the café’s security feed. An Albion APV just pulled up. Make yourself scarce.

  Hannah was out of the bathroom moments later. She paused in the corridor. There was a service entrance – but what if they were waiting? What if they weren’t here for her at all? Options and outcomes flooded her mind. One stood out, something her father had often said: the police only chase those who run.

  She took a deep breath and went back out into the café. She would pick up her order and go, as if nothing at all were out of the ordinary. Then she would go back to the office and try to come up with a plan. Maybe if she were to alert Sarah as to the arrests – no. There was nothing Sarah could do about that. Nor was she likely to stick her neck out in such a fashion.

  There were other ways, though. If Sarah managed to pull off her rebellion, Albion might well be pressured into releasing those it had taken into custody. She felt a flush of renewed confidence. DedSec might be down, but it wasn’t out. Not yet.

  Her order was waiting for her at the counter when she got back. She smiled at the barista and picked up the bag and Sarah’s coffee. It was only as she was heading for the door that she realised that the server hadn’t smiled back – and how quiet the café had fallen.

  “I’ll take that, thank you, Ms Shah,” Faulkner said smoothly, taking the cup out of her hand. He tasted the drink, then grimaced. “No wonder your boss is always in a bad mood. This is awful.”

  “Sergeant Faulkner,” Hannah said, with forced mildness. Underneath, her heart was pounding. Why was he here? What did he know? She tried to think – could Krish have given her up? She didn’t want to think so, but there was no telling what Albion had done to him.

  Faulkner set the coffee back on the counter and gestured to the door. “Shall we?”

  “Are we going somewhere?”

  “Outside. For a quick chat.”

  “I don’t think we have anything to say to each other, do we?”

  Faulkner’s smile faded. “It wasn’t a request.” He gestured and she felt hands grip her upper arms tightly. Two Albion operatives in full tac-gear stood to either side of her. She looked at them and then at Faulkner.

  “Oh,” she said, in a small voice.

  Sarah was in her office, talking to Moira Jenks, when an alert interrupted her. She held up a finger, silencing Jenks, and answered the alert. A message from Winston, just three words: You owe me. She sat upright and clicked the attached file. It wasn’t much, but what was there painted a picture. Sarah had always had a talent for putting together puzzles and what Winston had found was possibly the last piece of this particular one.

  “What is it?” Jenks asked, playing with her Optik.

  “The answer to a question.” She thumped her fist on her desk and laughed, low and loud. Winston had worked more quickly than she’d dared hope – then, he’d had the photo for help. “One that’s been bothering me for some time.”

  Jenks suddenly sat up. “Bloody hell,” she said. “They just hit DedSec!”

  Sarah looked at her, the words not quite registering. “What? Who?”

  “Albion! That shit, Faulkner – he just led a full-on raid, in Limehouse. They’ve arrested like fifteen people…”

  “They can’t do that,” Sarah protested. “Albion doesn’t have permission…”

  “They’re bloody acting like they do.” Jenks sounded stunned. “And that’s not the only one – I’m getting alerts from CID… there are more raids scheduled for today, right now. The Guv wants every uniform to report in, something about providing a police presence…”

  Sarah snorted. “More like the Met got shut out, and he wants to pretend he’s in on the operation before someone starts asking awkward questions.” She sat back, frowning. If Albion had received permission for such an operation, that meant things were moving faster than she’d anticipated. “This moves up the timetable somewhat.” She looked at Jenks. “What are you going to do?”

  Jenks shrugged. “I can read the writing on the wall as well as you, ma’am.” She scratched at the scab on her cheek. “The Met’s not in charge anymore. It might not be official yet, but it will be. And I don’t fancy serving under an arse-wipe like Faulkner.”

  “If anyone asks, we’ll say you’re still assigned to protection duty,” Sarah said, with a chuckle. But there was no real mirth in the sound. It wasn’t a laughing matter. She switched through her display, looking through the newsfeeds until she found coverage of the Limehouse raid. A smiling Nigel Cass was being interviewed by a GBB reporter.

  “Smug creep,” Sarah muttered. She switched feeds, looking for something less offensive.

  Albion was conducting a multi-media blitzkrieg – bombarding the airwaves with propaganda, even as GBB showed footage of their successful raids. Sarah shut off her feed with a disgusted sigh and ran her hands over her head. “This doesn’t change anything,” she said after a few moments. “It just makes the climb a bit steeper.”

  Jenks frowned. “Not giving up then?”

  “No. But I might need to re-evaluate my current strategy.” Sarah rose. “We’ll need to move quickly. Get ahead of all this somehow.” She checked the time. “Hannah should have been back by now.”

  “My fault, I’m afraid, ladies.” Faulkner stood in the doorway of her office, a smug smile on his face. “Surprised to see me, Ms Lincoln?”

  “Not as such, Mr Faulkner.” Sarah turned, putting a smile on her face. “Might I ask what you’ve done with my assistant?”

  “She’s in the corridor, with one of my men.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s a person of interest in an ongoing investigation – and before you say it, yes, our current remit allows for this particular investigation, as it’s related to an active terror threat.”

  “DedSec,” Sarah said.

  Faulkner tapped the side of his nose. “Got it in one. I knew you were clever.” He glanced at Jenks. “You’re out of uniform, constable.” Jenks made an obscene gesture in reply and he grinned. Faulkner’s gaze switched back to Sarah. “We suspect your assistant has some ties to known subversive organisation DedSec.”

  Sarah paused. “And why do you suspect that?”

  “Need to know,” he said, clearly relishing the words. And suddenly, she knew he was lying through his teeth, without a shadow of a doubt. This was an act of spite, nothing more. But the end result was the same. Hannah would vanish into the labyrinthine bowels of Albion’s organisation, like the others she’d heard rumours of. She couldn’t allow that.

  Yet, she hesitated. What she had was valuable. More valuable, perhaps, than Hannah. The sort of cudgel that could possibly be us
ed to beat Albion senseless – if she didn’t waste it. Even as the thought occurred to her, she felt a flush of shame – and the flicker of an idea.

  Decision made, she cleared her throat. “I know who he is, you know.”

  Faulkner paused, a quizzical look on his face.

  “I know who he is,” Sarah repeated.

  “Who?”

  “The one Holden sold the drone to.”

  Faulkner tensed. “I don’t know what you think you’re talking about, but–”

  Sarah overrode him. “You know damn well what I’m talking about. Holden sold something – a weapon – to someone else. Someone who decided to use that weapon to kill others. If that were to become common knowledge, well… our Mr Cass might have a bit more difficulty getting his foot in the door, mightn’t he?”

  Faulkner stared at her. “You don’t know anything.”

  “I started to wonder why you didn’t want us to see the Limehouse facilities. And then I realised… it wasn’t you. It was Holden. He knew that any official visit would reveal that something was missing. So he came to try and intimidate us – me. And when that failed… when someone in Albion figured out what was up… he came looking for protection.”

  Faulkner smirked. “And?”

  “And I know who he sold the drone to.”

  Faulkner’s smirk flattened. “Tell me.”

  “No.”

  Faulkner took a step towards her. Jenks moved in front of her, and he stopped. He looked past the constable. “Don’t be a bloody idiot. You don’t want to be on the wrong side of us. Not now. All your little games up until now… that can all be forgiven. If we worked with bloody hill chieftains and warlords, we can work with a Labour politician.”

  Sarah nodded. “What do I get in return?”

  Faulkner sneered. “You get not to get arrested here and now.”

  “Not good enough. Hannah walks.”

  Faulkner’s sneer faded. “She’s a terrorist. Or at the very least, terrorist-adjacent.”

  “That’s total crap and you know it. This is just you trying to get your own back, because I’ve been making you look a right pillock lately. Not you needed much help in that regard.” Faulkner clenched his fists, but she could see the gears turning in his head. She kept talking. “You don’t have anything right now. You’ve hit a few hacktivist hives. Good for you. But when people learn that Albion sold a weaponised drone to a murderer, all that good PR goes right in the bin.”

  “What are you proposing?”

  “A trade. Hannah – and a clean slate, between you and me. In return, I’ll give you what I know. Eminently fair, I think”

  “What do you know? What have you actually got?” he growled.

  “A name. And an address.”

  “And if I say no?”

  “Then the press will know what I know the moment you leave this office. It goes without saying they’ll fall on it like ravenous hounds, and pretty soon Albion will be in the crosshairs of every pundit, muckraker and politician in Whitehall. And Nigel Cass will have you to thank.”

  “I could arrest you.”

  “Not going to happen. Yes, you could arrest my assistant. You might even arrest my personal security here. But you can’t get to me. Not yet. Not without a bloody good, totally watertight reason. You’re hoping to find something to hang me with, but the truth is… you have nothing, and you know it.”

  Faulkner grunted and looked away, plainly debating with himself. Sarah sat back down and began to arrange her paperwork. At her gesture, Jenks sat down as well. They held the cards now. Faulkner had to choose between petty satisfaction – and job security.

  Faulkner turned back. “Deal.”

  Day Zero

  Friday

  Bagley-bytes 13698-4: Okay, things look bad, I admit it.

  +++

  Today’s big news, besides the imminent extermination of DedSec London, is the TOAN Conference. Met, Albion and more out in force, so anyone still planning on crashing that particular party needs to be on alert.

  +++

  Related to yesterday’s unfortunate occurrences, things are hotting up further afield in old London town. It’s no longer just the East End feeling the heat. Met officers in full riot have been spotted mustering near both Kensington and Chelsea field bases. If you’re in residence, clear out. That means you, Dalton.

  +++

  No, Terry, they’re definitely not following you. In fact, if an unmarked van offers you a lift, you should definitely take it. I insist.

  +++

  On the subject of unmarked vans and Wandsworth, we’ve learned that prisoners are being transported from Albion’s Tower Hamlets facilities to Nine Elms Docks. That includes DedSec members. Just a heads up.

  +++

  Everyone else… it might be time to think about relocating. London is getting a mite dodgy.

  27: Breakout

  Danny made his move just before dawn on the day of the TOAN conference. It had taken him until then to come up with a workable plan, and to gather his courage enough to enact it. Hattersley was on duty, which made things both easier and harder.

  The Tower Hamlet South base was stripped bare of personnel, thanks to the conference. Albion was on full alert, every set of boots on the ground barring those on essential duties. Danny was supposed to be part of a sweep in Limehouse, but he’d begged off, calling in sick. Faulkner wasn’t going to like it, but – well, Faulkner wasn’t going to like what happened next either.

  Thankfully, he was distracted. Faulkner was busy overseeing the latest raids – and the media frenzy that surrounded them. He was in a bad mood as well, despite everything humming along like clockwork. Something had gone wrong somewhere, though Danny wasn’t sure what. Maybe it was just the fact that Cass had pulled two out of every three Albion operatives out of the field in Tower Hamlets for a special detail. A special detail Faulkner obviously wasn’t a part of.

  Whatever the reason, Danny was glad of it. The fewer people in the base, the less chance there was of things going wrong. Not that he expected things to go right. Hope for success, plan for failure – that was his motto.

  He approached the custody suite as if he didn’t have a care in the world. The layout of the back of the warehouse was simple enough. The custody suite was at the end of an improvised corridor of steel grating and chain link fencing, overlaid with a network of gantries and drone berths and interspersed with electronically controlled gates.

  The suite sat at the centre of several such corridors, each branching off in a different direction. Behind the suite, near the loading bay doors, were several parked APVs, their bumpers aimed at the doors. Danny’s exit strategy hinged on stealing one.

  This time of day, there’d only be one person on duty and a response team on call. Even so, he’d have to be quick. There were cameras everywhere. The minute he made his move, it was all but certain someone would scramble the response team and Albion SOP was to come in hot.

  There was a raised metal platform set off side of the cells, where the duty guard sat. Each of the suites had a closed circuit camera installed, feeding back to a bank of monitors on the platform. There was also a main control panel. The suites had digital locks that could be opened singly or all at once from the panel. The benefit of the panel was that you didn’t need a code – you just flipped a switch and all the doors unlocked at once.

  Being assigned to guard duty was boring. Danny had done it a time or two, but there’d never been anyone in the cells. It was different now. The cells were full, some of them with more than one person. Danny couldn’t hear them, but he could feel them, feel their fear, their resignation. He didn’t like it. It only solidified the choice he’d made.

  As he crossed the floor towards the platform, Danny saw that the loading bay doors at the rear of the warehouse were closing. He could hear trucks moving out. He climbed the stairs and said, “We get a delivery?”

  Hattersley turned in his chair. “Danny, matey. Come to join me in my purgatory?
”

  “Figured you could use some company. What’s with the trucks?”

  Hattersley indicated the monitors. “They were taking out the first load of overflow.”

  “Where are they going?” Danny asked, leaning over Hattersley’s chair. He spotted Ro immediately. She wasn’t the only one in her cell – there was a young man there as well. Some DedSec punk, he figured.

  “Wandsworth. Nine Elms Docks.” Hattersley put his hands on top of his head and leaned back in his chair. “Remember all those fucking barges Albion bought about three months ago? Somebody decided to turn them into mobile bases – drones, gun emplacements and custody suites in the holds.”

  “Why?”

  “Safer, innit?” Hattersley shrugged. “Faulkner – or somebody higher up the chain – wants the suites cleared.”

  Danny paused. “They’re expecting more prisoners?”

  “That’s the word.” Hattersley looked at him. “Me, I figure it’s got to do with that TOAN conference today. Lots of protests. Lots of unwashed wankers looking to get arrested.”

  Danny grunted and let his hand slip towards his sidearm. He didn’t want to shoot Hattersley, but he might have no choice. The thought of it churned in his gut. “When’s your shift end?”

  Hattersley checked his Optik. “Ten minutes, give or take. Why?”

  “Because that means we’ve got ten minutes until someone notices you opened all the cells,” Danny said, raising his sidearm and pressing it to the back of Hattersley’s head.

  Hattersley stiffened. “Danny? Mate, what are you playing at?”

  “Open. The. Cells,” Danny repeated, softly.

  “You can’t do this, man,” Hattersley said, not looking at him.

  “My sister, yeah? Got no choice. Open the cells.”

  “You won’t shoot me…?”

  Danny paused. “No. I won’t.” He stepped back. Hattersley turned, a look of relief on his face. Danny slid behind him as he rose, and brought the solid weight of his pistol down on the back of Hattersley’s head. The other man crumpled silently. Danny looked down at him for a moment, and then stooped, took both his sidearm and his Optik. It only took a few moments to unlock all the cells. He was down the steps and at Ro’s cell a moment later, Hattersley’s assault rifle in hand. He hauled it open. “Right. Time to go.”