CounterPoint (12 page)

The air was thick with tension. Ariel had fleeting thoughts of disobeying in the past but they were just that – fleeting. Now, he was standing atop his own cliff readying to take the plunge.

“Our first duty is to humanity and the experiment. All other duties are subservient. We must stop this war.”

“And so it begins,” replied Amber. A wave of cold relief washed over her, as if released from the suffocating constraints of angelic rules.  “To take on the might of Heaven and Hell will be no easy task. Sir, our first task must be to disrupt this march to war, even if temporarily. If we don’t, the war will have started before we can stop it.”

“The key to that is securing the Bassett family ourselves. Michael seems unwilling to start this war until they are in his custody. We must find them before he does. After that incident with Pravuil, Michael is likely to dispatch Uriel to capture the family.” Amber agreed. Uriel had a reputation of being somewhat of a ‘monster’ on the battlefield for an angel. He had little to no respect for any form of life.

“It will certainly make things more interesting Amber, but we must find out what the Bassett’s actually are. As they’ve demonstrated, we are unable to take them by force.”

“The memorial service starts for Gabriel in ten minutes, sir.” Amber had forgotten about this service for Gabriel, such was the intense discussion she was having with her director.

“I’m not going. There’s simply too much to be done, too much to investigate. Go and represent me. Besides, I do not believe his death was accidental. Out of all the archangels, he fought with Michael the most. Michael always resented Gabriel because God placed in him the highest trust. Gabriel always fought for the experiment, knowing how important it was. I think he was led to his death, along with his most loyal followers.”

“You’re suggesting treason, sir, of the highest magnitude.”

“I’m surmising we may have stumbled on the first rumbling of an internal civil war Amber.”

Chapter 14

George worked at a gas distribution centre just outside London. It was a boring, dull job. The health and safety aspect, the rigid requirements for meeting precise measurements, annoyed everyone else but fascinated him. He was definitely a ‘by the book’ kind of guy.  Tonight was a particularly quiet night, everything was well within set limits and George nursed his cup of coffee on top of his stomach, relaxing in the tranquillity of the room.

“George here,” he said, picking up the phone and juggling his coffee at the same time. “No one, I’ll meet you there.” Gulping down the rest of the coffee, George got up and headed towards the central distribution connection. Apparently the security cameras showed someone down there. At this late hour, near 2am, there shouldn’t be anyone here apart from security and himself. Probably an admin error as usual he thought, it wouldn’t be the first time.

The central distribution conduit of this new state of the art gas hub was located half a kilometre below the surface and in a supposedly highly secured area. George knew that security was lax. After being open a number of years the staff had all become familiar with each other and often overlooked protocols for sake of convenience. Meeting Rick just outside the thick, solid steel security door bolted to the wall with six huge hinges, George waved his security pass across the square scanner panel adjacent to the middle door hinge. It opened inwards gently to a dimly lit room, standard really for this late hour. At the centre was a large rectangular glass chamber sunk into the ground and illuminated with blue LED lights that showed the gas leaving the complex, speeding along the vast network of pipes under London and half the country.  A sombre looking man turned round to stare at them as he stood directly beside the chamber.

“You’re not authorised to be in here,” said George harshly. He knew by this guy’s formal attire that he was no engineer on a maintenance round. His white gloves stood out against the dark room and the intruder’s dark clothes. The security guard advanced forward slowly, his hand firmly on his baton.

“I am authorised by the highest authority,” said the stranger before placing his hand on the glass chamber and closing his eyes.

“Remove your hand from that chamber now!” shouted George, motioning for the security guard to intervene. The guard didn’t move, however. George looked at him. He stood ever so still, his eyes fixated on the intruder while the colour of his skin turned a dark red.

“At present, he is melting from the inside out. His organs are being melted down to a point where the skin won’t be able to hold it all together. I’d step back if I were you, it tends to get messy towards the end. Goodbye.”

George watched in astonishment as the intruder vanished before his very eyes. He was quickly brought back to reality by a short grisly choking sound from the security guard before he collapsed to the floor, breaking apart and spilling out. The smell of liquefied organs and boiled blood repulsed George and he vomited on the spot, collapsing into the human soup. The loud repetitive alarm sirens and flashing red lights gave him the adrenaline to rush back to the control room. The control room itself was still empty due to the late hour but it would soon be buzzing with activity. As soon as the alarm system was activated all relevant staff would be contacted automatically. Due to the sensitive nature of this depot all staff had to live within fifteen minutes car travel of the facility. Nearly tripping over his own feet getting into the control room, he smashed the breakable glass of a cabinet housing a red telephone.

“Level one emergency!” he shouted down the receiver.

***

A breach in the darkness woke up Tom ever so slightly. He was never one for being disturbed, especially at this late hour. A large thin silhouette, illuminated in the light against the darkness of his bedroom, walked towards him.

“Will? What is it?” said Tom, sitting upright immediately.

“Prime Minister, we have an emergency situation. COBRA is convening downstairs as we speak,” said Will, turning on the lights in the room.

“What the Hell!” shouted Tom, jumping out of bed and racing towards the bathroom. He always kept what he called an ‘emergency suit’ hanging in the bathroom closet in case of situations like this. “Give me five minutes.”

The COBRA meeting room was deep underground in Downing Street. There were replica meeting rooms under Parliament and another undisclosed location. It was a huge rectangular room flooded with flat screens on every wall. A large executive meeting desk filled the centre with the Prime Minister’s chair red compared to all the others which were black. Tom was glad to see everyone getting into their seats as his security guards opened the double doors into the room. Sitting down at once while still doing his tie, he began firing questions around the room. His assistants hadn’t been able to tell him much more than it was an emergency – which he had gathered anyway.

“Prime Minister,” replied George, the home secretary, a plump, suited, red- faced man with years of experience edged into his now wrinkled face. “The situation is quite critical. We’re estimating we have between forty and fifty minutes before the entire London gas network explodes. If that happens, sir, London will go up in flames.”

“George I don’t accept that London is about to go up in flames; what the Hell can we do?” shouted Tom, smacking his hand of the table.

“Sir,” General Robinson sat forward, “we blow the pipeline. If we can stop the gas before it gets to the Central London distribution network, then we save London. Or most of it anyway.”

“And just create a bigger fireball somewhere else which we have no hope of stopping,” yelled Kate McWillows, the defence secretary.

“Prime Minister, we have one of the managers from the gas centre on video cam.”

“Put him on.”

The screen at the end of the table, attached to the solid steel wall, flickered and buffered briefly until a face appeared.

“Prime Minister, my name is George.  I’m currently in charge here at the gas distribution centre.” Behind George, teams of people ran in every direction, fighting for computer consoles and telephone lines frantically checking statistic sheets reaming off the printers.

“Prime Minister, in less than thirty minutes a gas fireball is going to reach Central London. The power of this surge is likely to expand outwards into homes and businesses across the city in the underground pipe works. Sir, we’re talking explosions in the streets, businesses burning and families trapped.”

“Is this a terrorist attack?” snapped another General.

“At the moment,” weighed in the Prime Minister, shooting a death glare at the General, “I’m more concerned with the people of London. What would you recommend, George?”

“Stop the gas reaching Central London, sir. If it leads to a huge flame ball then so be it. It’s better than the capital burning to a crisp. We can work with our partners in Europe to find a way to drain the gas out of the system afterwards. But sir,” George pressed his face right up to the cam in the control room, “you need to do it now!”

The cam cut off. It was these decisions that tested your mettle. Tom knew what had to be done; he’d rather deal with a fireball in some field or under some motorway than in the heart of one of the most populated, dense cities in the world.

“General, where would be the best place to destroy the pipeline?”

“The M20, sir, just outside of Ashford. We’ve calculated the pipeline is less than twenty metres down in this location. We can have our jets in the air in less than ten minutes with the proper ordinance.”

“Do it,” said the Prime Minister, now being rushed out of the room with other high ranking ministers of government. The officials hurriedly piled into helicopters and soon were evacuating.

“Sir,” shouted Will, his thick round glasses shaking with the vibration of the helicopter as it shot across the dark London skyline, “General Robinson reports they are in position, standing by to blow a section of the pipeline.”

“Make it so!” shouted back Tom. Even with the electronic headsets they were wearing, it was difficult to differentiate everything but the most simple of words. He could only hope now the army would be successful and he could get back to Downing Street and convene a press conference. It was vital to get a grip of the situation publicly; the press were stationed outside Number 10 twenty-four hours a day. A huge explosion in the distance caught his eye, but it wasn’t as far away as he would have liked.

Chapter 15

The memorial service was scheduled to take place in the Throne Room. Like Heaven, Headquarters had a ceremonial room reserved for important rituals and events. This was different though and Amber knew it. There had never been the death of an archangel in the history of creation. Until now. The ramifications of this would be huge. It might provide the final spark to ignite an all-out war on Earth. She couldn’t help wonder if that was the plan all along. Something so horrifying, the death of an archangel, would be an unmatchable catalyst to mobilise the rank and file. Gabriel held much respect among the entire community. While the Throne Room itself was impressive – it took up the entire floor of level six – it was miserable compared to the Grand Throne Room in Heaven.

Meeting with some of her counterparts from other departments, Amber took her place quite close to the front of the stage. Over a hundred angels had gathered. Paintings throughout human history adorned each wall; the ceiling was one huge mosaic art work and on the stage sat the Throne, Michael’s Throne. It was pure gold, derived from Heaven itself and fortified with every type of jewel imaginable. Its tall back towered up towards the ceiling. At each side of it sat much smaller throne chairs for the other archangels. Gabriel’s, second to the centre, was of course absent. The Throne Room was a claw-back from simpler, grander times before the experiment.

“Ma’am.”

Amber looked round to see one of her assistants standing at the end of the pew looking flustered. He swished over a small piece of parchment. What she read stunned her. Without excusing herself, she dashed out of the Throne Room and could catch out of the corner of her eye others slowly starting to do the same as the information was circulated.

“Sir,” said Amber barging into his office unannounced, “there’s been a huge explosion in Central London! The city’s in chaos, almost destroyed. Fifteen of our operatives have been killed. The regional office has been obliterated. Over half the city is on fire!”

“How the Hell has this happened?” bellowed Ariel, jumping up from his chair, snapping his fingers and his long winter coat appeared on him. “I’ll need to get there immediately. Amber have a security detail meet me at St Pauls Cathedral. I want them fully armed and ready for action. Deploy reconnaissance angels into the sky. I refuse to believe this is a mere human accident. Demons....” he stopped at his office door before it opened, “or angels may be responsible for this. I need to know exactly what’s happening in that city. You lead from the operations room, I’ll give you up-to-date information on the ground,” he finished and raced out down the corridor.

Amber ran to the operations room, keeping hold of her folders and trusted pen. All around her staff had already been made aware of the disaster and had begun implementing emergency procedures as required. A specialist team from another ministry had already been dispatched to save as many sacred artefacts as possible. This type of deviation from the natural course was unprecedented. Someone clearly had a lot of explaining to do; the destruction of a capital city like London had not been foretold and was totally unacceptable.

Generally, any massively disruptive event would be planned for well in advance by a committee of angels from relevant departments. How to deal with a surge in deaths, how to relocate various artefacts of significant importance and even the environmental ramifications all had to be discussed. It took months of planning as angels could not simply take the artefacts; they had to be relocated by ‘human means’. This usually meant installing angels in various positions throughout the relevant government agencies so they could do this without anyone noticing anything.