Flare

Chapter 42

Ten long minutes later the same soldier came running back, grinding to a halt in front of the Secretary and almost bowling him over.

“Sir,” he threw a hasty salute, “they’ve agreed to talk sir.”

The Secretary nodded, but made no move to step forward.

“Are you sure they won’t shoot?”

The soldier looked aggrieved. “They agreed to a ceasefire, sir!”

“Yes, but can we trust them?”

“They’re British troops, not terrorists, sir. You should be fine as long as you don’t upset them.” I realised then that the Secretary may have the troops’ loyalty, but only because of his position. They were following orders because that’s what they did, but from what the soldier had just said I suspected that they might just loathe him as much as I did.

I thought back over what I knew of the Secretary since he’d come to power, brought in to replace Phillip Hammond, who had been far too much a supporter of the armed forces and not harsh enough in making the cuts the government deemed necessary to save money.

Terrence Harvey-Smith, however, had had no ties to the people he was brought in to oversee, and had slashed and slashed at budgets until not a single man or woman in the armed forces hadn’t felt the pressure of his reign in one way or another.

“Uh, with respect, I’m not sure you’re the right person to talk to them,” I said, an idea forming as I stepped closer.

Emily glared daggers at me but I didn’t have time to explain anything now.

The Secretary stared at me as if I’d just insulted his mother.

“What do you mean?” He said, his voice low and dangerous.

I leaned closer, noting the way the men in suits slid hands under their jackets while their eyes tracked my every movement.

“Sir,” I said, hating to use the honorific but hoping it would mollify him, “do you really think that the man who cut the armed forces almost in half, however necessary, should be the one to step into the sights of an army sniper?”

The angry retort died on his lips, I could almost see it tumbling away as his brain worked through the ramifications of what I’d just said.

He leaned closer, our noses almost touching, and I could smell his fear.

“What do you suggest?” He asked quietly.

“Send me. I’m a talker, sir, it’s what I do. Well, that and writing, but I think they might respond better if I explain to them all the good you’re trying to do. And besides, if you want it written up afterwards that you did all the talking, I’ll be able to do. History is written by the victor.”

His eyes searched my face for a long minute, but he finally nodded.

“Do it.” He said, then waved the soldier over. “Malcolm is going to talk to them. Take him up there, but get a squad to move around the back of that petrol station. If things don’t go the way we want then throw everything you have at it.”

The man gestured for me to follow, and with a last quick glance at Emily’s furious face I hurried away into the darkness after the soldier as he led me around a bend and out of sight of the vehicles.

As we rounded the corner, the petrol station came into view, as did the detritus of battle.

Several soldiers still lay where they’d fallen, pools of blood glistening as they reflected the distorted colours from the sky. Others were huddled in the hedges and the ditch to one side of the road, while several more took cover behind a bullet-riddled Landrover that blocked both lanes.

Another vehicle, a pale blue people-carrier, was parked next to one of the pumps in the dark forecourt, a hose lying next to it with the other end snaking away into the darkness.

“Permission to approach?” My guide yelled, making me jump.

“Advance one and be recognised,” came an answering shout from inside the station shop.

“Good luck.” The soldier clapped me on the shoulder and melted back into the darkness. I swallowed the lump in my throat and stepped forward, raising my hands and walking slowly towards the vehicle as I imagined the scope of a sniper trained on my forehead. Sweat was pouring from me, soaking my back as I approached.

“Stop there!” The voice came from nowhere but I obeyed it instantly, freezing in place.

“Turn slowly, keep your hands up.”

I did so, performing a slow pirouette before coming back around to face the dark windows of the shop.

“Who are you?” The voice was male, and sounded tough as old boots, a cold edge to it that sent shivers up my spine.

“My name is Malcolm King, I’m a journalist.”

“What’s a journalist doing here?”

I shrugged. “Same as everyone else, trying to survive.”

“I’m stepping out now, keep your hands up until I tell you otherwise. You drop them, we shoot. You make any signals, we shoot. Clear?”

“Very.”

A shadow detached itself from the deeper shadows to the side of the building, slowly resolving into the shape of a man in black combat gear with webbing of the same colour over the top, the pouches full to bursting. I didn’t recognise the type of rifle he was carrying but it looked dangerous, black, stubby and pointed right at me.

Scuffed boots stopped several feet away from mine, and as the man stepped out from the shadows of the forecourt roof, I saw that his face had been daubed in black and green so that the only feature that stood out were his flinty eyes.

“Are you carrying a weapon?” He asked quietly.

“No.”

“Lift your T-shirt and turn again.”

I did so, and he finally grunted.

“Ok, drop your arms.”

I did, but held a hand out to shake. “Malcolm King.”

He stared at it for a moment, then shrugged and slung his rifle, although I noticed he pushed it far enough back that he could reach his holstered pistol in an instant, then took the proffered hand.

“First Lieutenant Chris Rogers, 21 SAS.” He let go of my hand and took hold of his rifle again. “Suppose you want to tell me what’s going on, eh?”

“I guess so. Uh, did I hear right that you’ve got Edwin Collins safe?”

He nodded. “He was the only one we could find. Everyone else was either dead in the fires or made their own way out.”

“Whereabouts are you staying?”

Rogers gave me an incredulous look.

“You expect me to tell you that?”

I shrugged and sized up the man in front me. Although I couldn’t be sure, I had the feeling that he was one of those straight-down-the-line men who would smell bullshit a mile away. Taking a deep breath, I decided to risk everything on one throw of the dice.

“To be honest, I’m not sure how this is supposed to go. Look, I’ll be straight with you. The Secretary has built a camp over hundreds of acres with an army base as its nucleus. He’s gathered thousands of civilians and he’s using them as slave labour to fortify the place and start producing food while he sends his troops out to secure supplies. It’s horrific, and it needs stopping.”

Rogers stared at me, face impassive as he processed the information.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I’m hoping that the Deputy PM isn’t doing the same thing, and that you’ll understand how important it is that we don’t lose our humanity while trying to save our lives.”

“Where is this camp?”

“I don’t know for sure, but it’s not far away. It’s an old airfield.”

“What’s the name of the army base?”

I tried to remember the name on the sign but it wouldn’t come to me.

“It’s run by a Colonel Tibbett if that helps?”

He nodded. “Abingdon Dalton barracks. It’s a logistics base, how convenient for them.”

“Isn’t it though?”

“How many men has he got?”

I shrugged, wishing I’d thought to bring Emily. “Three, maybe four hundred, I think.”

“Any idea what his plans are?”

“You mean apart from running the country? I asked him on the way here if we shouldn’t submit to the Deputy PM’s authority, but he told me the guy was an idiot so I guess he won’t let go without a fight.”

“Well if he wants one of those, we’ll give him one.” For the first time since we’d met, I saw a flash of emotion in Roger’s eyes and it was all anger. “There’s a chain of command and he bloody knows it.”

“There’s more,” I said, hoping that I was making the right decision by telling this complete stranger everything.

“Go on.”

“My friend Emily, she discovered something yesterday. She was working on lists of possible supply sites and she found one that dated back to two days before the flare.”

“You what?”

I nodded. “Someone knew it was going to happen. If information like that were to reach the government, who would be the first person to find out?”

Rogers ground his teeth. “Any project advanced enough to know what was going to hit us would be run by the military, so it would go through the Defence Secretary. No bloody wonder he just happened to find himself at a Logistics base when it all kicked off!”

His hands tightened on his rifle, and for one terrible moment I thought he was going to break the ceasefire right there with me still stuck in the middle, but he forced his hands to relax.

“Thank you Malcolm,” he said, “this is crucial intel. I need to get back to the PM with it, see what he wants to do.”

“They’ve got a squad moving around behind the petrol station,” I said, remembering, “so if you try to get away then they’ll cut you down.”

Rogers grinned suddenly, making him look surprisingly youthful.

“No they won’t. While we’ve been talking my men have been slipping out into the woods. Anyone tries to follow us and they’ll have a nasty surprise. You’re welcome to come with us if you want?”

I shook my head. “I’d love to, but Emily is still with them, and I can’t go anywhere without her.”

He nodded and shook my hand. “Well, if you don’t mind going back and telling the Secretary that we’re considering our options, I’d be very grateful. It should give us time to get away. And if there’s anything else we can do, now is the time to ask.”

“I don’t suppose you could create some kind of distraction, could you?” I asked hopefully, and was surprised to hear him laugh.

“Now that,” he said as he stepped backwards into the shadows, “just happens to be our speciality.”