Invasion (33 page)

‘Amen to that,’ whispered a very relieved Harry.

Inside the
command centre beneath Buckingham Palace, General Mousa’s already dark mood turned black. Heathrow had just confirmed the loss of the Big Eye and the two Raptors. The only good news was that the Big Eye’s crew had managed to survive unscathed. A helicopter was on its way to pick them up.

‘Have them detained at Heathrow and interrogated. I want to know who’s responsible for this farce.’ Mousa turned on his heel and stormed out of the command centre. It was time to report to the Holy One.

Upstairs
in the Palace’s
private quarters, Mousa had one of the King’s suite of rooms rigged out with a battlefield command terminal and a secure communications link, while outside his paratroopers
guarded the corridor. Mousa powered up the terminal and punched in his personal security code. On the screen, a small video window opened to reveal an ornate, but empty, chair in front of a rough-hewn rock wall. Mousa knew he was looking at the Holy One’s
private chambers
deep under the Jabal Sawda
Mountains
. A few seconds passed and the Holy One entered the screen and sat down. He looks tired, thought Mousa.

‘You look tired, my friend,’ echoed Khathami.

Mousa ignored the comment and bowed his head. ‘Holy One, I apologise for not contacting you sooner, however a situation arose that required my fullest attentions. I wanted to rectify that situation before I made my report.’ Mousa paused, choosing his words carefully. ‘However, events didn’t turn out as expected. The Infidel Prime Minister
is still at large.’

The Cleric stared silently at the camera, his bespectacled eyes unblinking. Mousa swallowed hard and continued.

‘The last contact we had was out to the west of England. I have diverted
a mechanized battalion from Southampton and sent it
northwest
in an effort to contain him. There are also rumours of a government facility in the area, and I
have ordered the interrogation of every senior civilian and military
official we can find to ascertain whether those rumours are true. Nevertheless, I will capture the Prime Minister in due course, Holy One. Of that, there is no doubt.’ The older man was quiet for some time while Mousa sat straight-backed, awaiting his next words. The fate of his career hung in the balance now. No matter how one looked at it he had failed, despite the tactical advantage of surprise and the huge operation to encircle the capital. He sat and waited silently,
his eyes lowered in deference. Eventually, the Cleric cleared his throat.

‘General Mousa, for many years you have been my trusted right arm, the
sword in my scabbard. You have never failed me in your duties and your loyalty to me is without question.’
Mousa held his breath.
‘I believe you have done everything
possible to achieve your goal and, for that, you cannot be faulted. If the Englishman has slipped your intricate net, then that is God’s will and who are we to question it? I suspect your frustration and disappointment will be a heavy burden for you to bear, but it is a burden that you must rid yourself of quickly, for there is other work to be done.’
Mousa exhaled, raising his head. The Grand Mufti smiled at his favourite
General’s obvious relief.

‘Beecham’s escape is a blow to our operation,’ continued Khathami. ‘However, we must ignore that setback and take into consideration the task before us, the importance of God’s work.’ He paused briefly, lifting his spectacles off the bridge of his nose and polishing them with a linen handkerchief tucked amongst the folds of his sleeve. Satisfied, he put them back on and continued. ‘You will consolidate our hold on the cities, General Mousa. Europe has fallen and Britain will follow, despite Beecham. Report to me again in twenty-four hours. Allah be with you.’

A deeply relieved General Mousa bowed his head.

‘And with you also, Holy One.’

Kirsty’s fingers played lightly on the steering wheel as the Range Rover cruised along yet another deserted country road. So far, Alex had guided them successfully through the back lanes of Hampshire, the only tense moment being their passage beneath the M3 motorway. Kirsty had steered them through a little-used pedestrian tunnel on the outskirts of Chertsey, where they scraped the paint from the Range Rover’s
wing mirrors
and left the motorway behind them. A few hundred yards beyond the tunnel, Khan ordered Kirsty to pull over while he ran into the woods, not to answer a call of nature as the others soon discovered but to record the military traffic on his cell phone. Someone, somewhere, might find the images useful.

They drove in relative silence after that, soothed by the smoothness of the
ride and the vehicle’s plush interior. Alex gave occasional directions and, for the most part, the roads were empty except for the odd pheasant or rabbit loitering on the deserted country lanes.

People were thin on the ground, too. Earlier, as they passed through
the village of Bramshill, they saw a small crowd huddled together
on the village green. Seeing the startled faces and a few shotguns, Khan thought it best not to stop. Kirsty kept her foot on the accelerator and continued on through the twisting
lanes. The villagers watched them until the road took them out of sight. They’d travelled another couple of miles when Kirsty broke the silence.

‘The radio,’ she said, ‘we haven’t checked it. Maybe we should.’

Khan leaned forward and punched the button. ‘Good idea.’ He shot a look at Alex. ‘We must be getting slow.’

‘Tired, more like,’ Alex yawned, stretching his arms. The vehicle filled with a low hiss and Khan began flicking through the pre-sets.

‘…a public safety message broadcasting on all frequencies…’

‘Stop the car,’ Khan ordered. Kirsty stamped on the brakes and came to a halt in the middle of the lane. Khan twisted the volume knob.

‘…members
of the public are advised to remain in their homes. Martial law is now in effect and all public services, including transport networks, have been temporarily suspended. I repeat, all civilians are to remain in their homes or alternative places of shelter. Stay tuned to this station for further information. This ends this public safety message.’

Kirsty’s
voice suddenly brightened. ‘That’s
good news, isn’t it?’ She saw Khan and Alex exchange grim looks and the hope in her voice faded. ‘Isn’t it?’ she repeated weakly. The broadcast looped once more, then a musical track cut in Arabic music.

‘Bizarre,’ Alex whispered.

Khan snapped the radio off. ‘They’ve thought of everything,’ he muttered. Kirsty gripped the steering wheel, her eyes fixed on the road ahead. ‘I can’t

stay here,’ she whispered. ‘I have to get back to London. My family, my friends…’ Alex laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘Take
it easy, Kirsty. London isn’t safe, remember? We can’t go back, not right now. Let’s just get to the farm,’ he soothed,

‘and we’ll work it out from there.’

Kirsty’s closed her eyes and took a deep breath, exhaling through pursed lips. ‘Yes, the farm.’ She caught Alex’s eye in the rear-view mirror. ‘I’m alright, really. Mild panic attack, that’s all.’ She swivelled in her chair, the cream leather creaking noisily. ‘Got to be positive, right?’

‘Always,’ Khan smiled.

She slipped the vehicle into gear and hit the accelerator, purring smoothly along the lane.

‘Want me to drive?’ Alex offered.

‘No, it’s okay. I
need
the distraction.’

They weaved their way past fields and hedgerows for almost an hour before arriving at a deserted T-junction. Ahead of them was a weather-beaten signpost and, beyond that, a line of distant hills dissected by a black ribbon of road. Alex pointed through the windshield.

‘That’s the A34. Cross that and we’re in Wiltshire. If we stick to the back roads I reckon it’ll be about another hour before we reach Rob’s place.’

‘Which
way?’ asked Kirsty.

‘Go left. We’ll head towards Sydmonton, then cut across country until we get to the A338. It’s not far from there.’

‘Good,’ Khan muttered, shifting in his seat. ‘I’m looking forward to getting off these roads.’

Alex glanced behind them. ‘They seem pretty quiet.’

‘True enough, but you can bet your life they’ll start sending aircraft up, if they haven’t already. And they won’t confine themselves to London, either. Let’s keep moving, Kirsty.’

The vehicle spun left and accelerated towards the distant hills. Khan folded his arms, his head against the window, his eyes searching the morning sky.

For the occupants of the Dark Eagle, the remainder of their flight west had been brief and uneventful. As the helicopter hummed across the landscape, the countryside below appeared to be waking up to a normal summer’s day – except for the sheer weight of military traffic. Passing north of Frome in Somerset, they saw an enormous bottleneck of vehicles parked along both sides of the town’s ring road.

Harry glanced out of the window. There were all manner of vehicles down there: tanks, tracked vehicles, jeeps and trucks of various shapes and sizes. There were also hundreds of British soldiers on foot, milling around in an adjacent field.

‘They’re being organised by unit type,’ said Lucas over the comms net.

‘Military vehicles have been arriving since yesterday evening.’

On the ground many, faces tilted upwards, eyes shielded against the sun, watching the helicopter as it flew overhead. To Harry it looked like a chaotic scene and he fought a brief surge of panic. How was he supposed to cope with a situation like this? He hoped that his arrival at Alternate One would offer him a few more options.

They left the traffic jam behind and continued westwards, skirting the town of Midsomer Norton to the south and crossing the A37 between the villages of Emborough and Binegar. Ahead, the Mendip Hills rose up steeply from the flat Somerset plain.

The Mendip Hills were a popular beauty spot, with Cheddar Gorge in the west and Chew Valley Lake to the north attracting tens of thousands of visitors every year. Covering an area of roughly three hundred square miles, the Hills comprised steep valleys and gorges to the north and south whilst, to the west, the rolling hills gave way to precipitous escarpments, pushing upwards to form a huge, central plateau that was windswept and sparsely populated.

The plateau itself was punctuated
with dense forests, dark valleys, huge rock formations and massive depressions. Large sinkholes bored their way deep into the limestone rock and much of the area was out of bounds in the interests of public safety. It was a beautiful yet desolate area.

The Dark Eagle rose up over the eastern foothills of the Mendips, skirting the town of Wells to the south. Lucas kept the aircraft low. Detection by the locals was always a problem and the Ministry of Defence had gone to great lengths over the years to keep inquisitive civilians away. Usually a few danger signs did the trick, like the ones that dissected the central plateau, but the situation had
changed dramatically in the last twenty-four hours and nosy ramblers were the least of their problems now. Although the sun was well above the horizon, Lucas ordered Stanton to keep a close eye on the thermal imaging cameras for any suspicious heat signatures on the ground as the helicopter swept over the plateau and headed northeast towards Mendip Forest.

Harry looked down as the Dark Eagle crested a hilltop and dropped into a deep valley, its steep sides covered in
densely packed
pine trees. The valley was completely enclosed and ran for a couple of miles of so, with another craggy rock face looming a few hundred yards ahead. Near its summit, jagged limestone teeth jutted into the sky.

At the end of the valley, Lucas banked hard and dropped the helicopter, losing height rapidly. Harry gripped his armrests
as the Dark Eagle hovered down below the treetops towards the valley floor. As they approached the ground, Harry realised that the surface comprised of some kind of man-made hard-decking, perfectly camouflaged in the mottled green and browns of the surrounding landscape.

The Dark Eagle flared and touched down, rolling forward along the hard-deck between the trees. He saw several soldiers and ground crew emerge from the undergrowth as the aircraft rolled to a stop. Gibson and Farrell were first out, helping Harry down from the chopper. He turned and waved to Lucas and his crew, receiving a short salute in return. A hatless soldier in combat uniform stepped forward and extended his hand.

‘Good Morning Prime Minister. My name is Major Monroe and I’m the senior security officer here at Alternate One. Follow me, please.’

The Major turned on his heel and led the way under the trees. Harry took in the surroundings
as they walked quickly up the sloping hard-deck. The sun hadn’t risen high enough to penetrate the valley and the canopy under the trees was dark and foreboding. High above their heads, Harry could make out thin layers of camouflage netting strung between the treetops. The whole complex must be practically invisible from the air, he realised.

As the hard-deck cut deeper into the hillside, the sloping ground on either side rose up to form rough-hewn dirt walls. To his right, a low concrete hanger had been cut into a wide section of the slope and, inside, Harry saw another Dark Eagle being worked on by several technicians. As they passed the hanger, Harry notice more figures in the tree line.

‘Security force,’ said Gibson, following Harry’s eye. ‘This must be the main entrance. Look.’

Just up ahead, the hard-deck ended at a huge sliding door cut into the rock face that was slowly rolling open as they approached. Harry stopped in his tracks. So this was Alternate One.

The enormous entrance door stood at least thirty feet high, its external fascia expertly camouflaged to blend into the real rock face. It slid quietly open on well-lubricated
tracks and Harry was reminded of an old James Bond film he’d once seen. The huge door suddenly changed direction and began to close. Harry stepped quickly over the threshold and found himself inside a large cavern. There were no lights here, but the cavern seemed to stretch away to his right, with yellow-painted
parking bays marked on the smooth concrete floor. In the gloom, he could see several vehicles there, all military.

They followed Monroe as
he headed towards another doorway. Behind them, the huge entrance door slid closed and Harry felt rather than heard the deep boom that echoed around the cavern. They continued on and found themselves inside a wide tunnel lit by halogen lights, with a single white line in the middle of a road that stretched away into the distance. Ahead of them was an electric buggy; Monroe climbed behind the wheel, inviting the others aboard. The buggy clicked and whined, then accelerated quietly along the tunnel.

‘Despite appearances, Alternate One isn’t a very big complex,’ explained
Monroe, his voice echoing off the tunnel
walls. ‘It’s all here under this one hillside.’

‘That valley we flew into. It looked like it was closed at both ends. No way in or out,’ observed Gibson.

‘Well spotted. There’s a vehicle tunnel at the southern end that cuts through the hillside. For security reasons we don’t use it that often.’

‘I never knew the place was so complex,’ said Harry.

‘Not many people do. We like to keep it that way.’

They continued along the tunnel, the floor sloping downwards and leading them deeper into the hillside, until they reached another large cavern. Here, troops laden with equipment
criss-crossed the floor and fork lift trucks whirred backwards and forwards, loading supplies onto waiting vehicles. Bellowed orders and revving engines echoed off the cavern walls. The noise was tremendous.

‘We’re on foot from here,’ shouted Monroe. ‘I’ll escort
you to your quarters where you can freshen up, Prime Minister. There’s a briefing in the main operations room in thirty minutes.’

‘Very well.’

Monroe held up a hand as Gibson and Farrell hopped off the buggy. ‘You two will report to the personnel pool. We need every fighting man possible at the moment.’

Harry’s eyes narrowed. ‘What’s this?’ Before
Monroe could respond, Harry shook his head. ‘Out of the question. These men are my security team now. I’ve lost all the others.’

‘Prime Minister, I think we-’

‘It’s not open for debate, Major Monroe.’

The burly officer cleared his throat. ‘Of course.’ He turned to the two soldiers.
‘I’ll arrange
accommodation. In the meantime, I’ll expect to see you at the briefing.

They continued across the cavern and Harry noticed the looks from some of the soldiers as they passed. It wasn’t optimism he saw in their faces.

‘This is the assembly area,’ waved Monroe, ‘a central distribution
point from which supplies and equipment are transferred around the complex. Alternate One can accommodate up to four thousand personnel, although there’s nothing like those numbers here at the moment.’

‘How many are here?’ Harry asked.

‘Well, there are always twenty
five permanent staff on duty, twenty-four hours a day all year round. They
are backed by a rotational force of another twenty
five. Now, including key government ministers, military personnel
and the security force guarding the exterior, there’s a total of eight hundred and ninety-one.’

Harry caught Monroe by the arm. ‘Nine hundred people? Is that it? Where are all my ministers? Surely some got out?’

Monroe frowned. ‘It all happened very quickly, Prime Minister. The initial attacks were far more widespread than we first thought.’

Harry bit his lip. ‘Jesus Christ, this is bloody
awful.’

‘Let’s keep moving, please.’

Monroe led them through a corridor until they reached another smaller cavern. Two doors led off it, one on either side. Monroe gestured to the one on the right.

‘This is your room, Sir. You’ll find hot water and toiletries in the bathroom.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’ll come and fetch you in twenty minutes.’

Harry stepped inside and found himself inside a simple, yet comfortable room with two single beds, a desk with a computer terminal and a small en-suite bathroom. He turned the shower tap on and was delighted to see a powerful jet of steaming water drum onto the smooth stone floor. He undressed quickly.

By the time Major Monroe returned, Harry had enjoyed a hot shower and shave. For the first time in many hours he felt relaxed and in control. Monroe had some clothes draped across his arm.

‘Not quite Savile Row, but they’re clean and should fit you.’

Harry changed into a fresh shirt and trousers, feeling vaguely ministerial once again. Outside, he found Gibson and Farrell waiting to escort him and the party moved off. They headed back towards the assembly area, cutting across the cavern towards another tunnel in the far wall. Harry looked up at the high ceiling and wondered how long it had all taken to construct. Monroe caught Harry’s look.

‘Quite impressive, isn’t it? However, our engineers
can’t take complete credit for the design and construction. Mother Nature and time did most of the hard work. There are a lot of natural caverns cutting through these hills, and
large parts of the complex used to be mine shafts dating back to the turn of the twentieth century. In here please, Prime Minister.’

Monroe stepped through a heavy steel door. The operations room was rigged out with a myriad of sophisticated equipment, digital displays and a wall-sized map of Britain. Several soldiers wearing headsets sat in front of a bank of computer terminals at the far end of the room, busily tapping away at their keyboards. Dominating the centre was a large conference table, around which sat a dozen men and women. Chairs scraped back as Harry entered. He waved them back into their seats.

‘Please, don’t get up.’

Monroe directed Harry to the head of the table, while Gibson and Farrell slipped off to the side and took up positions near the door. As he approached, Harry scanned the faces of the personnel gathered around the table, recognising only two people. The first to approach him was Russell Armstrong. Russell was Chief Secretary to the Treasury and the right-hand man to the Chancellor, Stephen
Laws. He was a decent chap, Harry recalled, quiet and industrious.

‘Prime Minister, so good to see you.’ Armstrong pumped Harry’s
hand a little too eagerly and Harry offered a reassuring smile.

‘You too, Russell.’

‘Wonderful news that you’d managed to escape in one piece.’ Armstrong’s face darkened. ‘I was so sorry to hear about Anna.’

Unconsciously, Harry bit his lower lip. Anna. Things had moved so fast he hadn’t had time to dwell on his emotions. He knew that was a good thing but, momentarily, he fought hard to keep them in check.

‘Clare’s missing. And the children,’ Armstrong announced in a flat voice. Harry could see that the man was close to the edge and he felt ashamed of
himself. Yes, his own wife had been killed, but there were probably thousands of casualties out there
;
men, women and, God help them, children. Russell’s girls were quite young, too, and the man had no idea where they were. The very thought must be unbearable and Harry was silently grateful that he and Anna hadn’t had any children of their own. He quickly put his own grief to one side. There were others to consider and, as Prime Minister, he was expected to lead by example. There would be time later to confront his loss.

‘I’m sure they’re safe, somewhere,’ consoled Harry. ‘What happened to Stephen?’

‘No one knows.’

‘Dear God.’

The other friendly face in the room belonged to Peter Noonan, the Deputy
Prime Minister. The two men were old friends and they embraced warmly.