Scorpia (17 page)
“Good afternoon, sir.”
“I have a letter for the prime minister.”
The policeman had heard it a hundred times. There were cranks and pressure groups, people with grievances, people needing help. Often they came here with letters and petitions, hoping they would reach the prime minister’s desk. The policeman was friendly. As he was trained to be.
“Thank you, sir. If you’d like to leave it with me, I’ll see it goes through.”
The policeman took the letter – and his would be the only fingerprints that would show up later. Written on the front of the envelope in neat, flowing handwriting were the words:
For the attention of the Prime Minister of Great Britain, First Lord of the Treasury, 10 Downing Street
. He carried it into the long, narrow office which is little more than a Portakabin and which all members of the public must pass through before they can enter the famous street. This was as close as the letter would normally get to number ten. It would be re-routed to an office where a secretary – one of many – would open and read it. If necessary, it might be passed on to the appropriate department. More
likely, after a few weeks, the sender would receive a standard, word-processed reply.
This letter was different.
When the duty officer received it, he turned it over, and that was when he saw the silver scorpion embossed on the other side. There are many symbols and code words used by criminal and terrorist organizations. They are designed to make themselves instantly identifiable so that the authorities will treat them seriously. The duty officer knew at once that he was holding a communication from Scorpia, and pressed the panic button, alerting half a dozen policemen outside.
“Who delivered this?” he demanded.
“It was just someone…” The policeman was old and approaching the end of his career. After today, that end would be considerably nearer. “He was young. Fair-haired. Wearing a suit.”
“Get out there and see if you can find him.”
But it was too late. Seconds after the man in the suit had delivered the letter, another taxi had drawn up and he had got in. This taxi was not in fact licensed and its number plate was fake. After less than half a mile the man had got out again, disappearing into the crowds pouring out of Charing Cross Station. His hair was now dark brown; he had discarded his jacket and was wearing sunglasses. He would never be seen again.
By five thirty that evening the letter had been photographed, the paper analysed, the envelope
checked for any trace of biochemical agents. The prime minister was not in the country. He had gone to Mexico City to join other world leaders at a summit meeting about the environment. He had been in the middle of a photo session but had been called outside and told about the letter. Already he was on his way home.
Meanwhile, two men were sitting in his private office. One was the permanent secretary to the Cabinet Office. The other was the director of communications. They each had a copy of the letter – three typewritten sheets, unsigned – in front of them.
This was what they had read:
Dear Prime Minister,
It is with regret that we must inform you that we are about to bring terror to your country.
We are acting on the instructions of an overseas client who wishes to make certain adjustments to the balance of world power. He makes four demands:
The Americans must withdraw all their troops and secret service personnel from every country around the world. Never again will the Americans act as international policemen.
The Americans must announce their intention to destroy their entire
nuclear weapons programme as well as their long-range conventional weapons systems. We will allow six months for this process to be put into effect and completed. By the end of that time, the United States must have disarmed.The sum of one billion dollars must be paid to the World Bank, this money to be used to rebuild poor countries and countries damaged by recent wars.
The president of the United States must resign immediately.
Prime Minister, you may wonder why this letter is addressed to you when our demands are directed entirely at the American government.
The reason for this is simple. You are the Americans’ best friend. You have always supported their foreign policy. Now it is time to see if they will be as loyal to you as you have been to them.
Should they fail, it is you who will pay the price.
We will wait two days. To be more precise, we are prepared to give you forty-eight hours, starting from the moment this letter was delivered. During this time, we expect to hear the president of the United States agree to our terms.
If he fails to do so, we will inflict a terrible punishment on the people of Britain.
We must inform you, Prime Minister, that we have developed a new weapon which we have called Invisible Sword. This weapon is now primed and operational. If the president of the United States chooses not to respond to all four of our demands in the allotted time, then – at exactly four o’clock on Thursday afternoon – many thousands of schoolchildren in London will die. Let me assure you, most sincerely, that this cannot be avoided. The technology is in place; the targets have been selected. This is not a hollow threat.
Even so, we understand that you may doubt the power of Invisible Sword.
We have therefore arranged a demonstration. This evening the England reserve football squad will be returning to Britain from Nigeria, where they have been playing a number of exhibition games. When you read this letter, they will already be in the air. They are due to arrive at Heathrow Airport at five minutes past seven.
At exactly seven fifteen, all eighteen members of this squad, including the
coaches, will be killed. You cannot save them; you cannot protect them: you can only watch. We hope, by this action, you will understand that we are to be taken seriously and thus you will act quickly to persuade the Americans to comply. By doing so, you will avoid the terrible and pointless massacre of so many of your young people.
We have taken the liberty of forwarding a copy of this letter to the American ambassador in London. We will be watching the news channels on television, where we will be expecting an announcement to be made. You will receive no further communication from us. We repeat: these demands cannot be negotiated. The countdown has already begun.
Yours faithfully,
SCORPIA
There was a long silence, broken only by the ticking of an antique clock, as both men studied the letter for a fourth and then a fifth time. Each was aware of the other, wondering how he would react. The two men could not have been more different. Nor could they have disliked each other more.
Sir Graham Adair had been a civil servant for as long as anyone could remember, not part of any
government but always serving it, advising it and (some people said) controlling it. He was now in his sixties and had silvery-grey hair and a face accustomed to disguising its emotions. He was dressed, as always, in a dark, old-fashioned suit. He was the sort of man who was sparing in his movements and who never said anything until he had thoroughly considered it first. He had worked with six prime ministers in his lifetime and had different opinions about them all. But he had never told anyone, not even his wife, his innermost thoughts. He was the perfect public servant. One of the most powerful people in the country, he was delighted that very few people knew his name.
The director of communications hadn’t even been born when Sir Graham had first entered Downing Street. Mark Kellner was one of the many “special advisers” with whom the prime minister liked to surround himself – and he was also the most influential. He had been at university – studying politics and economics – with the prime minister’s wife. For a time he had worked in television, until he had been invited to try his luck in the corridors of power. He was a small, thin man with glasses and too much curly hair. He was also wearing a suit, and there was dandruff on his shoulders.
It was Kellner who broke the silence with a single four-letter word. Sir Graham glanced at him. He never used that sort of language himself.
“You don’t believe any of this rubbish, do you?” Kellner demanded.
“This letter came from Scorpia,” Sir Graham replied. “I have had direct dealings with them in the past, and I have to tell you that they’re not known to make idle threats.”
“You accept that they’ve invented some sort of secret weapon? An invisible sword?” Mark Kellner couldn’t hide the scorn in his voice. “So what’s going to happen? They’re going to wave some sort of magic wand and everyone’s going to fall down dead?”
“As I’ve already said, Mr Kellner, in my opinion Scorpia would not have sent this letter if they did not have the means to back it up. They are probably the most dangerous criminal organization in the world. Bigger than the Mafia, more ruthless than the triads.”
“But you tell me: what sort of weapon could target children? Thousands of schoolchildren – that’s what they say. So what are they going to do? Set off some sort of dirty bomb in the playground? Or maybe they’re going to go round schools with hand grenades!”
“They say the weapon is primed and operational.”
“The weapon doesn’t exist!” Kellner slammed his hand down on his copy of the letter. “And even if it did, these demands are ridiculous. The American president is not going to resign. His popularity
ratings have never been better. And as for this suggestion that the Americans dismantle their weapons systems – do Scorpia really think for a single minute that they’ll even consider it? The Americans love weapons! They’ve got more weapons than just about anyone else in the world. We show this letter to the president, and he’ll laugh at us.”
“MI6 aren’t prepared to rule out the possibility that the weapon exists.”
“You’ve spoken to them?”
“I had a telephone conversation with Alan Blunt earlier this evening. I have also sent him a copy of the letter. He believes, like me, that we should treat this matter with the utmost seriousness.”
“The prime minister has cut short his visit to Mexico,” Kellner muttered. “He’s flying home as we speak. You don’t get much more serious than that!”
“I’m sure we’re all grateful to the prime minister for interrupting his conference,” Sir Graham retorted drily. “But I would have said it’s the aircraft carrying these football players that we should be considering. I’ve also spoken to British Airways. Flight 0074 was delayed in Lagos earlier today and only left this afternoon, just before half past twelve our time. It should be touching down at Heathrow at five past seven, just like the letter says. And the England reserve football squad
are
on board.”
“So what are you suggesting we do?” Kellner demanded.
“It’s very simple. The threat to the plane is at Heathrow. Scorpia’s helped us at least by giving us the place and the time. We must therefore re-route the plane at once. It can land at Birmingham or Manchester. Our first priority is to make sure the players are safe.”
“I’m afraid I don’t agree.”
Sir Graham Adair glanced at the director of communications, his eyes filled with an icy contempt. He had spoken at length with Alan Blunt. Both of them had been expecting this.
“Let me tell you my way of thinking,” Kellner continued. He held his two index fingers in the air, as if to frame what he had to say. “I know you’re scared of Scorpia; you’ve made that much clear. Well, I’ve read their demands and personally I think they’re a bunch of idiots. But either way, they’ve given us a chance to call their bluff. Redirecting this football team is the last thing we want to do. We can use the arrival of the plane to test this so-called Invisible Sword. And by sixteen minutes past seven we’ll know it doesn’t exist and we can put Scorpia’s letter where it deserves to be – in the bin!”
“You’re willing to risk the lives of the players?”
“There
is
no risk. We’ll throw a security blanket around Heathrow Airport, making it impossible for anyone to get near them. The letter states that the players are going to be hit at exactly seven fifteen. We can find out exactly who’s on the plane. Then
we can make sure that there are a hundred armed soldiers surrounding it when it lands. Scorpia can bring out their weapon and we’ll see exactly what it is and how it works. Anyone tries to set foot in the airport, we’ll arrest them and throw them in jail. End of story; end of threat.”
“And how are you going to put a hundred extra armed guards into Heathrow Airport?” Sir Graham asked. “You’ll start a national panic.”
Kellner grinned. “You think I can’t make up some sort of spin to take care of that? I’ll say it’s a training exercise. Nobody’ll even blink.”
The permanent secretary sighed. There were times when he wondered if he wasn’t getting too old for this sort of work – and this was definitely one of them. There remained one final question. But he already knew the answer.
“Have you put this to the prime minister?” he asked.
“Yes. While you were speaking to MI6, I was talking to him. And he agrees with me. So I’m afraid on this matter you’re overruled, Sir Graham.”
“He’s aware of the risks?”
“We don’t believe there are any risks, actually. But it’s really very simple. If we don’t act now, we’ll lose the chance to see this weapon in action. If we do this my way, we force Scorpia to show their hand.”
Sir Graham Adair stood up. “There doesn’t seem to be anything more to discuss,” he said.
“You’d better get on to MI6.”
“Of course.” Sir Graham moved to the door. He stopped and turned round. “And what happens if you’re wrong?” he enquired. “What happens if these players do somehow get killed?”
Kellner shrugged. “At least we’ll know what we’re dealing with,” he said. “And they lost every single one of their games while they were in Nigeria. I’m sure we can put together another team.”
The plane landing at Heathrow was a Boeing 747 – flight number BA 0074 from Lagos. It had been in the air for six hours and thirty-five minutes. It had departed late. There had been a seemingly endless delay in Lagos: some sort of technical fault. Scorpia had arranged that, of course. It was important the plane followed the schedule that they had imposed. It had to land by five past seven. In fact it hit the runway at five minutes to.