Reign of Evil

CHAPTER 48

Preeti was anxious to get through. The total blackout was killing her. Not only did she need to find out about Trevor, but she’d also been trying to coordinate some backup for Ian and the men of SEAL Team 666. Her brother was helping her as well and both of them were butting up against a wholesale effort to keep information from flowing within the country and to turn the communication networks into a cat’s cradle of confusion. She couldn’t contact anyone meaningful, and when she could get through they were requiring her to authenticate a phrase for which she had no password. Lord Robinson was completely incommunicado. Even his private cell number was out of service. She was becoming increasingly concerned that they might be winning the battles but losing the war. She said as much to Genaro, who could feel her frustration.

“Have you tried to have someone external contact an internal number? Maybe it’s something they’ve done with the switches.”

She thought it was a great idea and contacted Pete Musso at SPG. She explained what she needed. Gave him several numbers, then waited. He came back in fifteen minutes and the news wasn’t good. He couldn’t get through either, and with a query to a colleague in America’s NSA it became apparent that Britain’s Government Communications Headquarters had locked down the communications systems and was only allowing connectivity through their master server in The Doughnut, their headquarters in Cheltenham.

Preeti slammed her crutches against the floor. “Damn it. What if they need help? There’s no way to get it to them.”

“This had to have been part of the greater plan. It makes you wonder how many people in high places are involved.”

“It could only be a few if they have the right access. After all, it’s Christmas Day. No one’s paying attention to anything except their families.”

Genaro had another idea. “What about friends from outside England? Help from America is too far, but what about France or Germany?”

Preeti felt a well of hope. “Or Ireland. Trevor and Ian worked with a couple blokes from the Irish Seventeenth Army Ranger Wing. On paper it doesn’t exist, but much like Section 9, they’ve been around for quite a while.”

She tried to call out but wasn’t able to connect. Which made sense, since GCHQ controlled all of Great Britain. She called back Musso and asked him to contact Conor McGinty and to give him a time to connect, which was thirty minutes from then. Musso said he would, and in the meantime she logged onto Facebook and pulled up a popular application used to play word games.

While she waited, Genaro made them another pot of coffee. She was on the third pot. Her stomach was torn up from the stress and the acid. He urged her to eat and she finally chose a slice of bread with some butter on it. She couldn’t bring herself to try anything else.

Two of her Facebook friends saw her online and tried to initiate a game, but she ignored them. Finally, thirty-seven minutes after she began waiting, she saw the word Laith pop into her box. She replied with Luachra. Laith Luachra was the mother of Finn mac Cumhaill, better known as Finn McCool. Not only was he a great Irish mythological warrior, but it was also the nickname of the Irish Seventeenth Army Ranger Wing—the Finn McCools.

Then they opened a chat window.

Conor: Merry Christmas. What’s up?

Preeti: Nothing merry about it.

Conor: Uh-oh. Tell me.

Preeti: Jerry’s dead. Trevor may be too. Lost three others last week. Might lose the Queen. Need help.

There was a long pause.

Conor: Sorry about loss. Terrible. What news with Queen?

Preeti: All other coms are hijacked. Highest-level bad guys. Want to overthrow Queen.

Conor: We’ve been tracking something. Bad day to get help.

Preeti: Can’t help it. Do you have anything?

Another long pause.

Conor: Have two choppers at Culdros. Two men. Not going to be happy, but looks like you need it.

Preeti: You have no idea.

Conor: It must really be bad. How’s Ian?

Preeti: You can guess.

Conor: Yeah. I can. Listen, Patrick Kelly and Keith O’Reilly will be in contact. Keep lines open.

Preeti: Will do. And thank you, Conor.

Conor: As always, payment in beer.

Then he signed off.

Genaro, who had been following the conversation over her shoulder, straightened. “Ingenious. I read a book once about spies communicating during MMORPGs. What was your plan B if this didn’t work?”

She frowned and hugged her sweater around her. “Carrier pigeon.”

“I think they’re extinct.”

“That says it all.” She sat back in her chair. England had a long history of kings and queens and not everyone found the throne through peaceful means. What was that mnemonic they’d made her learn in order to recall the long line of English monarchs?

Then Preeti added two lines:

She struggled to find the right word, but all she could think of was:

And to think two Irish helicopters, five Americans, a Belgian dog, and Ian were all who could possibly alter this path. She began to cry, big, choking sobs. She cried for herself, she cried for Jerry, she cried for Trevor, and she cried for England… an England who’d embraced her family and every other family, regardless from whence they came.