Aides flinch and mutter. One lifts a hand tentatively. ‘Harry Madden?’
‘WHAT? FUCKING WHAT?’
‘Looks like him,’ the aide says weakly.
‘FUCK FUCK FUCK.’ Mother stands straight, pushing her hands into her hair with utter despair. ‘WHO’S NEXT? BIGGLES?’
‘Mother, got the PM on line one . . .’
‘Tell her to fuck off . . .’
‘Um . . .’
‘Give me that phone . . . Veronica? I am really quite busy right now.’
‘What is happening?’ The voice is calm, controlled.
‘I don’t fucking know . . .’
‘Mother,’ another aide shouts. ‘We’re detecting more changes to missile positioning . . .’
‘Who?’ Mother demands. ‘Who the fuck is pointing missiles at us?’
‘Er, everyone is?’ the aide says, blinking rapidly at the information flowing into his system.
‘That is why I am calling you,’ the PM states, drawing Mother’s attention back to her. ‘I have received direct warnings.’
‘From who? Tell them to fuck off . . . WHERE IS TANGO TWO? Someone get Alpha on the line . . . What the fuck is happening? WHERE IS TANGO TWO? Is that Tango Two outside? What the fuck is she doing outside? Is she still inside? PM? Who threatened us?’
‘They all did. They all are . . . I need an update. Do we have it?’
‘Fuck,’ Mother mutters.
‘The US President is watching this feed,’ the PM says. ‘Moscow and Beijing too.’
‘WHAT? HOW? Hang on . . .’ She pulls the phone away for a second. ‘Is that Tango Two outside? WELL, FUCKING FIND OUT . . .’
‘They will launch at us if they even think we have it,’ the PM says into the phone. ‘We need to confirm or deny. We have no choice . . .’
‘It’s a live operation,’ Mother says, glaring round the chaos of her office. ‘If the US President is watching, she will see that.’
‘Now is not the time for semantics. We have US military aircraft in UK sovereign airspace. We have Russian military aircraft heading our way. Every missile facility in the world is currently pointing at us. I need answers. Confirm or deny.’
‘It’s her,’ someone shouts, pulling up the stock images of Tango Two to compare to Emily seen on the live feed. ‘Confirmed. That is Tango Two . . . real name Emily Rose.’
‘WHERE IS TANGO TWO?’ Mother screams into the radio as the PM holds the phone away from her ear with a wince, while her aides look on in varying states of fear.
A muffled voice amidst the chaos within the house. ‘WITH ME, TOP FLOOR . . .’
‘GUNSHIPS . . . TOP FLOOR . . . FIRE NOW, FIRE NOW . . .’ Mother screams.
‘Mother, be careful . . . If we are seen using heavy military equipment, it will send a signal that we are losing control,’ the PM says, trying her best to stay calm.
‘Fuck off,’ Mother snaps, throwing the phone across the room. She flips a switch to transmit on every channel deployed to the attack in Hampshire. ‘KILL TANGO TWO . . . KILL HER NOW! . . . GUNSHIPS . . . TOP FLOOR, FIRE NOW, FIRE NOW . . .’
Forty
Ria stares at the shimmering light with tears streaming down her cheeks. Her hands trembling. Her stomach in knots of fear, dread and abject pity. Her legs threaten to give way. They’ll kill her mum. She needs her mum. Her mum is in the house. She can get her out. She can do it. She needs seconds, that’s all.
She sobs as she takes the second tablet for the Red. She has to get her mum. She is pregnant. She doesn’t know what to do. It’s always about Bertie. Always about what he’s done. Her father didn’t care. He didn’t care before he committed suicide and he doesn’t care now. He ran off when they were being attacked in the house. He ran off and saved himself. He’s not even here now, but off hiding somewhere.
She has an assault rifle. She knows how to fire it. She’s watched the others enough times. She’s even put a magazine of live bullets in it.
Tears fall on the screen of the tablet. Panic surges up. Her breathing comes faster. She hyperventilates and smothers her own mouth with a hand to stop the noise carrying down the corridor to the doctor in his rooms.
All she can see is the look on her mum’s face when she tried to defend Bertie. The utter terror and confusion in her eyes. Her mum is a good person. Loving and caring. She doesn’t deserve this. Ria needs her. Her mum needs to be here in the bunker or on the island with Bertie. Mum will love the island. Mum loves the heat and sunshine.
Rational thought vanishes. The need to have her mum back outweighs anything else. She convinces herself she can do this. She can go through and grab her mum to bring her back. She’s even timed it for when everyone else is on the top floor trying to rescue her bloody brother.
She fights to recover her breathing and stem the tears falling down her cheeks that mist her vision. She fights to gain composure and push the crippling fear away.
Miri smokes outside the Blue. Her mind running fast. The thrill inside is strong and beautiful. The same thrill she used to get when she executed missions, but this is better than all of them put together.
She looks at the cigarette. Dammit, she hates smoking. She loves smoking. It stinks so bad, but feels so good. A lingering glance to the blue light behind her. A twitch at the corners of her mouth, then she looks forward to the direction of the house.
Through the scope on the Barrett, Ben watches Echo lead the charge up the main stairs. He knows Echo will throw the flash-bang up. Miri and Bertie will be stunned. John will get them into the bedroom and the last bit will happen. Several operatives and soldiers remain on the middle-floor landing, but what they do is of no relevance now.
Ben lowers the weapon. Blinking as his eyes adjust from the sights to real vision.
Safa leads them on, running towards the corner of the house to complete a mission that has gone like clockwork. Better than clockwork. It’s been almost easy.
Miri smokes. Her eyes cold and fixed. A few feet behind her and a hundred million years in the past, Ria inhales deep and slow next to the inert Red. Her hand holding the tablet trembles as she keys the coordinates.
Ben, Safa, Harry and Emily run. Miri smokes. Ria summons courage and on the middle landing of Cavendish Manor, while everyone else fights on the top landing, Alpha drags a terrified woman by her hair across the ruined carpet. His face twisted in fury. Bravo with him.
Soldiers and operatives watch as Alpha slaps Susan Cavendish across the face several times. Each one a solid whack that snaps her head over. Blood spills from her nose. Her eyes already swelling. She cries out and spits blood from her mouth. Bravo draws his pistol to press the barrel into Susan’s forehead.