The Watchers
Authors: Wendy Reakes
Cover Art by Vitaly S Alexius
www.svitart.com
First published in 2016 in Great Britain.
Copyright©TheWatcherswendyreakes2015
The moral right of Wendy Reakes to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the copyright, designs and patents acts of 1988.
All rights reserved. No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author and copyright owner.
ISBN-13:
978-1537292168
ISBN-10:
1537292161
All research in this novel is based on real facts, however this is a work of fiction using speculative theories to embellish the story,
and therefore the contents should not be taken literally.
If you would like to comment on some of the content
of the research, please contact me via my website:
Wendyreakes.com
Dedicated to Tom
My sincere thanks to:
Crop circle images courtesy of Steve Alexander
www.temporarytemples.co.uk
Alton Priors photos courtesy of Andy Burnham
www.megalithic.co.uk
Research
Danu Forest, Author of Nature Spirits
London
2026
Keri Rains sat in the back sea
t
of the black
,
government officia
l
Audi, cruising down the Mall towards Buckingham Palace. On Keri’s left next to St. James Park, the crowds lining the route were stepping off the pavement onto the road, attempting to catch a glimpse of the Prime Minister sitting to Keri’s right. They were out of luck; the blacked-out windows offered no visibility to the interior, as the burning sun reflected starkly, back into their prying eyes. Keri watched a man whip off his white t-shirt and wave it around his head. She couldn’t decide if was his intention to demonstrate support for the woman sitting at Keri’s side, or if he meant to wave a white flag. Yeah, he meant
surrender,
Keri decided. They had all given in. The fight for political freedom was a losing battle. Everyone knew it and now they just wanted the country to be put back how it was.
Keri tugged her pale blue linen skirt over her knees. Her tanned bare legs were well maintained, hairless and glossy with navy blue sling-back heels on her elegant feet. When she caught her reflection in the car window, she thought her light brown hair, pulled into a tight knot on the back of her head, made her face appear stern. She normally wore it loose when she was off duty, making her features seem softer; not beautiful, but not unattractive either. She had the sort of face that made people feel comfortable. It had helped her gain many jobs in the past. People trusted her.
The car slowed, almost to a stop, as some of the revellers pushed in front and banged on the hood. They were being ushered away by the PM’s escorts, made up of police, army and MI5. They had expected riots, but surprisingly, and despite the people’s aggression towards the emerging dystopian culture in the UK, the Prime Minister’s traditional audience with the queen had remained relatively peaceful.
To Keri's right, the PM was silent as she too gazed out of the window on the other side of the road, where blackened buildings lined the Mall. In the past, the once white historic structures had been properly maintained as part of London's heritage, but there was no pride in that sort of thing anymore. Ever since the water shortage of 2019, the buildings had turned dirty over time, revealing grime, dust and pigeon droppings. The glass in the elegant Georgian windows was weathered, but no one noticed. It was hard to see past the iron grills, placed over them years ago to protect the people inside the building; the government officials who still claimed they wanted to put the country back where it was before Brexit.
“Thanks for coming with me today, Keri,” Alice Burton said. She had a deep voice with no accent to speak of until she forgot herself and her natural Welsh tongue crept in. Keri saw her finger twitch. Upon it, a thick gold band served as a reminder of her widowed status and that she was very much alone. “I really need your support at the moment.”
“It’s fine, Prime Minister. You know I’ll do everything I can to help.”
Alice placed her small hand over Keri’s. “You don’t have to call me that. It’s not like I insist on being addressed by my title. I’ve told you a thousand times to relax. Besides, we’ve been friends for two decades.”
Keri slipped her hand out, feigning the need to scratch her head. She gave Alice a reassuring smile. That was feigned too. “It’s protocol.”
“Ah, yes. Always the professional.” Alice brushed a minute fleck of lint off her black British made skirt. She was known to be a lover of Chanel, but no one could get French made designs anymore. “I shouldn’t have expected anything less from you.”
“It’s my job, Prime Minster.”
“Oh, for goodness sake,” she snapped.
Keri didn’t want to displease her. Not today. “Very well…Alice.”
Alice Burton looked happy that she had once again talked Keri into doing something she was uncomfortable with. That had always been a habit of hers. Alice had referred to them as friends, but it hadn't always been a mutually trusting relationship. Alice treated Keri as if she worked directly for her, even though Keri's job was to represent everyone in the house, not just the nation’s leader. Alice had been in office for the past four years and frankly, no one could believe how she'd been reelected to the highest ranking position in the British government. Her past reign had her dubbed ‘the People's Prime Minister' for her efforts in humanities. She had called out the previous leaders, by cursing Brexit. The people had loved her for it, especially when that one move had divided nations across Europe. Now, she wasn't so popular. She still hadn't managed to get the country out of the mess it was in.
The Prime Minister had appointed Keri as her chief protocol officer two years ago. It was after some unfortunate business to do with an underground scheme when Alice failed to deliver her promise of increased housing for the poor in London. The project, which to this day still remained top secret, was the least popular event of Alice Burton's four-year reign and no one was more surprised than her own party when she was reelected for a second term. Some said the polls had been fixed. But that couldn't happen…
surely
.
Two years ago, Alice Burton had cunningly convinced her cabinet that Keri's role needed to be a full-time job. When they opposed the appointment, she'd argued that the post was essential in increasing the likeability factor with the British people. Soon after, Keri's
protocol
title had faded into obscurity, since Alice became more and more dependent on Keri as a personal spin doctor, companion and general dogsbody.
“Did you see the headlines this morning?” Alice murmured. “That poor girl, Sarah, getting abducted from her parent’s home in Taunton.”
Oh, God
. Keri thought, rubbing her arm as goose bumps appeared on her skin.
“I can’t imagine how her mother must be feeling right now.” Alice patted Keri’s leg. “Only you can know what that’s like, to live every day knowing your child is somewhere; not knowing if she’s dead or alive or who she’s with. It must have brought it all back for you.”
Keri turned her face away.
Stop talking. Stop talking before I scream
… “Hmm.” What else could she say?
“How long has it been now?”
“Three years.” She was going to be sick.
“Don’t lose hope. There is always hope.” Alice turned back to the window as the car approached the gates of the palace. “I was
hoping
the election was going to be the news of the hour in the tabloids. Looks like the girl Sarah has taken pride of place on that one.” The PM sighed and reached up a hand to stroke the back of her neck. She placed the tip of her finger inside a curl of her short blonde hair and then released it again.
Keri grimaced in silence.
Don’t lose hope!
The final insult! Alice Burton’s last condescending statement before her audience with the Queen.
Keri had never given up hope. Yes, she’d had her moments when the pressure and the depression had driven her to a place of darkness and despair, but ninety-nine-percent of the time, she had always felt that Elizabeth was still alive, somewhere. She liked to think of her girl as being in a place where she was safe and cared for, until the day when Keri would find her and bring her home. That thought was the one thing, which had kept her going, since she was taken three years before.
To the day!
The significance of that was something Alice had overlooked, but Keri wasn’t surprised, not when all Alice Burton worried about was Alice Burton.
There had been a ransom. It was five-hundred-thousand-pounds, but it may as well have been five million. She and Harry could never have raised that amount of money. They'd overstretched themselves when they moved to London three years before, and after she'd secured her governmental job as Chief Protocol Officer, they thought they could afford to gamble on a decent townhouse. When the kidnappers demanded the ransom, and with the housing market being what it was, they didn't have enough equity to raise the cash.
The abductors had taken their daughter from the resident’s private garden at the front of the house in Holland Park. Elizabeth had assured Keri she was meeting her friends and that they were with their mothers. Keri had blamed herself afterwards. She should never have allowed her to go, or at least she should have checked. After she was taken, the police told them they had been easy targets, ‘What with an expensive property in London and a top job in the government and all.’
Yes
, Keri blamed herself. It was what made her tick.
The palace gates were already open, protected by the queen's armed guards, their weapons loaded, aimed and ready to kill anyone who made a false move. The car glided into the grounds as the Prime Minister brushed an imaginary speck off her lapel. She needn't have worried. She looked immaculate, as always. Alice pulled an antique gold bejewelled compact from her bag and flipped it open. She used the powder pad to dab her nose.
The car neared the covered entrance where liveried staff stood to attention. “Here we go, Keri.”
“Good luck, Prime Minister. I’m sure Her Majesty will be happy to welcome you to office for another term.”
The car stopped and an aide opened the door.
Alice closed the powder compact with a loud click and dropped it back into her bag. “I hope so, dear,” she said before she stepped out. “I do hope so.”