Red Notice

56

As the Dauphin swept him, the Slime and the signals group in towards Folkestone, Gavin could see that the slow lane of the M20 had already turned into a car park. The line of static trucks and artics stretched back towards Ashford.

Operation Stack had been initiated, closing a fourteen-mile coast-bound section of the Kent motorway between junctions eight and nine. Gavin imagined the HGV drivers, seasoned campaigners in the field, switching off their engines, making themselves a brew and settling down to watch sport or porn movies on the TVs in their cabs, or stretching out in their bunks for a few hours’ kip.

The other lanes were jammed with cars, the moon faces of some drivers visible through their windscreens, staring up as the heli flashed overhead, maybe praying for divine intervention. ‘Poor bastards,’ Gavin muttered, into his headset mic. ‘They’re probably thinking they’ll be on the move again any minute, in France by this afternoon.’

Private motorists with Eurotunnel tickets would eventually be given ferry vouchers. Gavin always found himself grinning at that. It was a bit like being handed a ticket to Fight Night and spending the evening in the ring.

The moment they’d closed the tunnel, the propaganda machine had swung into action. The powers-that-be wanted to keep the situation as covert as possible for as long as possible. The news channels were saying that the whole complex had been paralysed by yet another power failure. Daytime TV producers were hoping to discover a Hollywood star aboard or a woman in premature labour; if they could tick both boxes at once, so much the better.

The French and UK governments couldn’t have cared less, as long as they steered clear of the truth: they both knew that the public loved a bad news story; the media on each side of the Channel could have a field day pointing the finger at the old enemy.

The Dauphin circled over the intricate pattern of bridges, access roads, loading ramps and platforms. Hard over to his right, Gavin could see the point where the gleaming tracks converged and then disappeared into the twin black holes set into the chalk cliff face. Figures in hi-vis vests scurried this way and that between police vans, ambulances and fire appliances.

They skimmed the rooftops of the administration buildings and went into a hover as the pilot made his approach to the helipad in the emergency staging area.

Gavin could see Woolf staring back up at them, hands on hips and a sour expression on his face, wanting to get on with the job.