The Hawk Is Dead

Author’s Note

While Their Majesties feature in this novel as themselves, all the words they speak are entirely my own.

The roles of the Royal Household staff are real, but the characters themselves are totally fictitious and my creation.

1

Monday 20 November 2023

It was both the southern entrance to the railway tunnel and the southern exit, depending, like so much in life, on your perspective. At this moment, through the crosshairs of the scope of his rifle, it was very definitely the exit. In just under three hours and seven minutes’ time, the Royal Train was scheduled to emerge from it, travelling at a steady 70mph, en route south from London to the city of Brighton and Hove.

He smiled. It was the smile of a man who knows something no one else does. Well, just two other people, actually.

The train would be carrying Her Majesty Queen Camilla, and her entourage, on the first leg of a two-day official hospice tour along the south coast of England.

The weather gods had smiled on him. They’d delivered a dense early morning mist, enabling him to arrive unseen beneath its shroud and conceal his motorbike in undergrowth, then be in position by sunrise at 07.25. On his previous early morning recces here, he’d seen no one. No dog walkers or ramblers. This grassy hillock, a bundu of weeds and brambles, was well clear of any of the South Downs footpaths and, lying flat on his stomach on the mat he had brought with him, he was confident he was concealed from view.

As a man whose job involved constant risk assessment, he had calculated that the biggest risk facing him over the coming hours would be a pesky, inquisitive dog. But he had a pocketful of treats, just in case. Preparation was everything, always. As Abraham Lincoln said: Give me six hours to chop down a tree, and I will spend the first four sharpening my axe.

The Sako TRG 42 rifle was steady on its bipod stand, the stock cradled into his shoulder. The magazine contained five .338 hollow-point — dum-dum — bullets, which would have a devastating effect on their target by expanding on impact. He would only need one round but he would fire two shots just to misdirect them. And the knowledge he had three spare had a calming effect; to be accurate over this distance of more than 300 metres he needed to be very calm. Very steady.

He peered through the scope again. The grimy red-brick surround to the void of the railway tunnel was cut into the side of the hill, like a scowl. There were steps up to a primitive platform service lift, which could carry maintenance workers up and down from a grassy knoll above, a short distance from the winding driveway to a farm.

He could see all of it through his scope. It was so powerful he could have read the time on anyone’s wristwatch.

The mist had risen completely now. He would love to stand and stretch his legs but that would be foolish, camouflage fatigues only concealed you so long as you didn’t move, and so much planning had gone into this it was a risk he could not take. He also needed a pee, and had to go through the awkward contortion of removing the empty two-litre bottle of Diet Coke from his rucksack, and directing his urine into it. When he had finished, he screwed the top back on and put it to one side. He would stow it in his rucksack later, along with the weapon that he would break down after he’d used it.

He unscrewed his thermos flask and took another swig of his carefully rationed coffee, as he watched a northbound express, the early train from Brighton carrying commuters to London Victoria, enter the tunnel. In a few minutes the stopping train from London Bridge, heading south towards Brighton, would emerge. He got comfortable and practised his aim with the rifle. He had a perfect view into the windows on the left side of each carriage. At the speed these trains were travelling, an accurate shot would be impossible.

But the Royal Train, due at 10.32, wasn’t going to be travelling at any speed at all.

The irony hadn’t escaped him that he was employed to protect The Queen. That was his day job.

But today was his day off.