“What’s going—” Alex is immediately shushed by three different people, including Cassie, who wraps a hand around his mouth.
“Parliament Live,” says the SA. “The Public Administration and Constitutional Affairs Committee in session, as of half an hour ago. Norman Grove, minister without portfolio, is addressing the committee”—he fiddles with the remote—“aha.”
“—Honorable friends, is why we have commenced the structural rationalization and replacement of SOE, anticipating the recommendations of the review process in light of the findings of the enquiry into April’s events in Yorkshire—”
Why is he showing us this? I wonder, because this is all old news—
“—Utilize a statutory instrument in accordance with the provisions of the Civil Contingencies Act (2004) to transfer those roles associated with the defense of the realm to the Ministry of Defense, and support and infrastructure responsibilities to—”
Statutory instruments are administrative orders that the government can use to implement secondary legislation, bypassing debate in Parliament. The CCA is the emergency powers law governing the UK in time of war or natural disaster, and it basically allows a designated minister to make it up as they go along. It’s tantamount to a declaration of martial law. I didn’t know the government had invoked the CCA, and I’m about to open my mouth to say so when Mo squeezes my wrist again.
“—Dangerous rogue agency is a thing of the past. Luckily we have the legislative instruments and, more importantly, the assistance of our American allies and their experienced private sector contractors to fall back on during the necessary period of upheaval that this restructuring will cause—”
Click. The SA freezes the livestream. “Observe.” He points at the screen with the knobbly remote, then fiddles with some buttons. The screen jumps, zooming in on Grove. He’s standing in the middle of the horseshoe-shaped table, but behind him I see a blonde in a power suit. “Seated, behind the minister’s left shoulder. Known to the public as Anneka Overholt, the minister’s special advisor. And known to those of us who have been keeping an eye on Target Three”—his cheek twitches—“as the Reverend Raymond Schiller’s former personal assistant, lately promoted to his deputy.”
The SA takes a deep breath. “I’m showing you this to demonstrate just how desperate the situation has become. A few years ago, some of you were instrumental in denying Raymond Schiller access to the cabinet. This time he—or the thing pulling his strings—has succeeded in suborning Parliament. This isn’t simply an attack on the agency and an attempt to place its operational assets under the control of a new ministry. We—that is, the Board—believe this is an active Category One swarm attack by the Sleeper in the Pyramid, that as before, the Sleeper is using engineered brain-control parasites to co-opt slaves. However, this time the parasites are rather more effective than the previous generation of neurotropic tongue-eating isopods, and the enemy’s plan is to amplify, exponentiate, and go pandemic. The parties at Target One are being used as cover for induction or implantation of individuals with a high degree of connectedness in their social graphs—the ideal vector for transmission. We thought until yesterday that we had about three months, that they were still keeping it to a recruitment gambit for the so-called Inner Temple of Sleeper cultist-slaves, but then we got hold of the guest list for tomorrow’s event. We were overoptimistic.”
Mhari clears her throat. “Schiller will be throwing another of his big parties this Saturday. He’ll be attending in person, and inviting half the cabinet by the sound of it—the half who aren’t already infested.” She sounds almost apologetic.
I’m still trying to get my head around his last words when he walks across to the TV screen, turns, and says a word that refuses to stick to the insides of my ears. I blink and see other people shaking their heads. It’s very quiet all of a sudden, and it takes me a moment to realize that the usual subliminal hum of minds all around has died down, so that I can only sense the people I can see in this room, not the rest of the building. I look round for confirmation and see a blank expanse of wall where the door I walked in through used to be.
Dr. Armstrong straightens his back and looks at us. “What I have to say next is not to be discussed outside this room; nor is it recorded or written anywhere. This agency has assets you are unaware of, deliberately so—compartmentalization is a fact.” He doesn’t even manage a self-deprecating smile, and that’s when I feel, in my guts, just how serious this is. “You will shortly be given orders of questionable legality, to the extent that, taken at face value, they would appear to violate the Treason Act. Measures are in train elsewhere to ensure that a separate statutory instrument is fast-tracked to retroactively grant immunity for any actions you are required to undertake in compliance with these orders.” (There are sharp intakes of breath all round.) “Moreover, whatever Mr. Grove thinks, this restructuring is not going to happen because Mr. Grove is not going to be around to carry it out.”
My mouth is open. I manage to close it before I catch any flies; meanwhile Persephone speaks up. “We aren’t in the business of overthrowing the government,” she enunciates very carefully.
Dr. Armstrong stares at her. “Of course not.”
Cassie sits up very straight. “It all depends what you mean by the government, doesn’t it?” she chirps, doing a very good impersonation of a teacher’s pet. I stifle the urge to strangle her. Is it my imagination or is Mo actually relaxing next to me? “There is the Crown-in-Parliament, and there is the Queen, the person in the central seat, but there is also the government, as in Parliament, YesYes? And it is the individual members of the Parliament who have been suborned?”
She sounds really alien when she puts it like that, a green-haired Martian invader with pointy ears trying to get her head around humanity.
“Yes,” says Persephone. “What is our operational objective? Our exit strategy?”
“Your objective is to sterilize the source of infection.” The SA looks straight at me. “Secondary objectives are to rescue any members of the cabinet or other VIPs who have not yet been parasitized, and to verify that Schiller, or his people, are controlled by the Sleeper in the Pyramid—but we are already certain of this beyond reasonable doubt: it’s icing on the cake if you can do it. Other hands are taking care of the broader constitutional issues in the background; you need trouble yourselves no more over the niceties of the situation. I believe you have a plan, Mr. Howard?”
Gulp. “As directed, I’ve established and kept up-to-date an operational plan for simultaneous attacks on Schiller’s UK footprint,” I hear myself saying. “Is this the go/no-go point?”