Invasion (13 page)

Harry watched them go. They were good people, dedicated in their duty to the office of Prime Minister. The irony was that he didn’t know half their names and he felt rather guilty about that. He watched the last of them disappear around the corner, then turned to Morris.

‘As you can see we’ve got power down here, thanks to an emergency backup generator in that room over there.’ Harry pointed to a steel door on the other side of the corridor. It looked the same as the main door to the basement
;
government grey, with two large locking handles and adorned with yellow signs
that warned
High Voltage Electricity – Danger of Death
.

‘Good,’ Morris nodded. ‘How about those comms, then?’

Harry led the police officers into the CMC. Morris gave a low whistle when he saw the large amount of electronic maps, LCD displays and high-spec communications equipment scattered around the room. He headed straight for an Airwaves comms set, a piece of equipment he was familiar with and the type used across the Met area. He began scrolling through the frequencies.

‘Any luck, Sergeant?’

Morris shook his head. ‘Can’t raise anyone. It’s like the whole net’s dead.’

‘Keep trying.’ Harry got up and paced the room. Anna’s violent death invaded his thoughts again, the almost physical pain twisting his stomach in knots. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, banishing the images that threatened to overwhelm him. He
took several deep breaths, regaining his composure after a few moments. A clear head was needed now, something else to focus on. So what did they know?

An attack on the government had taken place, an attack on a massive scale.
No emergency services had arrived, no security forces other than the small police team that now accompanied him, and all communications
were down. To cap it all, there were explosions and gunfire across St James’s Park. It was all a terrifying, chaotic mess.

He looked up at the bank of monitor screens, some of which were usually tuned in to the media channels. All they transmitted now was a snowstorm of static. What the hell was happening? Short of taking a walking tour of the area, there was no way of finding out. It was clear to Harry that he had to abandon Downing Street. But where to go, and how to get there?

He spun around when he heard footsteps echoing along the corridor. Mac entered the room accompanied by Brigadier Forsythe from the CIG team. The Brigadier was dressed in full combat uniform and wearing a camouflaged helmet and flak jacket. On his belt he carried a pistol holster, the flap unbuttoned. Behind him, four
heavily armed
soldiers also entered the room and fanned out around the walls.

‘Giles! Thank God you-’

Without a word, Forsythe took Harry’s arm and guided him away from the others. His face told Harry more about the gravity of the situation than anything he’d seen or heard since the whole nightmare had started.

‘Prime Minister,’ began the Brigadier, ‘let me start by saying how sorry I am about your wife and Mr Fuller.’ Harry looked at him uncomprehendingly. ‘The police have briefed me. I was in the MOD building when your staff appeared. I’ve settled them on the sixth floor, in a conference room. They’re safe for the time being.’

‘What the bloody hell’s going on, Giles?’

Forsythe took a deep breath. ‘Here’s what we know. At six o’clock this evening a series of co-coordinated
attacks took place across the country-’

‘Across the country? What do you mean?’ interrupted Harry.

The Brigadier held up a hand. ‘I know it’s a shock, but just hear me out. Okay?’ Harry nodded soberly. ‘The UK, or at least some parts of it, is under attack and what we are experiencing could be the first wave of an even larger operation. Contact has been lost with every major army base and garrison across the country. I was able to speak to a colleague of mine very briefly, a senior commander at Aldershot. He said the garrison had been infiltrated by large groups of armed men and that there were several
firefights
taking place in or around the vicinity of his particular barracks. Shortly thereafter, the line went dead. So it’s not just London. I grabbed some binoculars and went up onto the roof of the MOD. The surrounding
area has been devastated and there are smoke plumes right across the horizon. Communications
across the board appear to be down, along with all civilian and governmental power grids. This is not a terrorist incident, Prime Minister.’

‘A coup, then? The political situation hasn’t been-’

‘No, I believe these are the opening s
hots of a much wider conflict.
The scale is too large. Our infrastructure, our defences have been deliberately targeted and disabled. This
feels like a war.’

Harry’s face drained of colour.
‘A war?
With whom?’

‘We haven’t got time for speculation. We have to get you out of here.’

‘Where to?
And how are we going to get out of Whitehall? It’s a bloody nightmare out there.’

‘Prime Minister-’

Harry cut him off. ‘Giles, we’ve known each other for long enough and, under the circumstances, I think we can dispense with the formalities.’

Forsythe nodded. ‘Okay, Harry.’ The Brigadier cast a look over his shoulder, making sure there was no one within earshot. ‘What I’m about to tell you has remained a secret from the British Government since work began, many years ago. Quite simply, the situation has never arisen where its use has been necessary.’

Harry couldn’t keep the puzzlement from his face. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘An evacuation plan, one
that
would be
implemented should normal transport and communication channels be deemed to be too risky. Usually, the procedures for a national emergency are clear. You’d be whisked away from your present location and taken under armed escort to an airfield, from where you’d be flown to Alternate One, the command and control complex beneath the Mendip Hills in the West Country. Once there, your Cabinet would join you and together you would take control of whatever
crisis the country happened to be in the grip of and continue to govern as the situation allowed.’

Harry nodded, familiar with the general national emergency plans. But it was clear Forsythe meant something
else, something
quite different.

‘However,’ the Brigadier continued, ‘it was decided many years ago that there may come a time when events ran out of control too quickly, that the Prime Minister of the day would have neither the time nor the opportunity to leave Whitehall
by the normal routes without putting him or herself in serious jeopardy, even under armed escort. A large-scale nuclear or chemical attack, for example. A time when even a helicopter pick-up from Whitehall would be deemed an unacceptable risk. That time is now.’

‘Jesus,’ whispered Harry.

‘Before we go any further I need to send the police back across to the MOD.’ Harry started to protest, but Forsythe held up his hand. ‘It’s just you, me and my security team. They’re good boys, all Special Forces. The police can look after your civilian staff.’ A sudden rumble overhead made everyone glance towards the ceiling, the shock wave shaking the walls. ‘We’re
running out of time,’ Forsythe warned, signalling to one of his security team.

Harry saw a tall, chisel-faced soldier walk briskly towards them. Like the others, he was heavily armed and dressed in full combat gear. Whereas the Brigadier wore a standard-issue Kevlar helmet, this man, like the others, wore a short-peaked cap in the same grey/black pattern as his combat uniform. The man walked with an easy stride,
as if he’d
done this a hundred times, not a glimpse of tension, not a bead of sweat. Just a calm, self-assured manner, one that Harry found both intimidating and comforting at the same time. Forsythe did the introductions.

‘Harry, this is Mike Gibson, my number two. Mike’s squad is part of the
Sabre Team standby group.’

Gibson held out his hand and Harry shook it, noting the tough skin and firm grip.
‘Sir.’

‘Sorry, I didn’t catch your rank.’

‘Technically it’s sergeant, but we don’t stand much on ceremony in our mob. Everyone’s pretty much on first-name terms.’

‘Special Forces, of course,’ echoed Harry, slightly embarrassed. These men operated differently, had their own rules and rituals, their own way of doing things that wasn’t always by the book.

Gibson pointed to his comrades. ‘Quick introductions then. The big fella is Nasser and that’s Brooks. Bloke by the door is Farrell. We’ve all done this kind of stuff before. You’ll be well looked after.’

Harry felt reassured in the presence of this small but no doubt very capable team of professionals. If anyone were going to get him out of this situation, it would be these guys.

Forsythe waved Morris over. ‘Time to go, sergeant. And keep a low profile,’ he warned. ‘To all intents and purposes we’re in a war situation. Find a radio and listen in. Any official broadcasts will be transmitted
across the emergency networks. Try and stockpile
as much food and water as you can and don’t move unless you have to. You might be holed up for a few days.’ Forsythe
offered a tight smile. ‘Best advice I can give you under the circumstances, I’m afraid.’

Morris nodded, shaking Forsythe’s hand. ‘Appreciate it. Good luck.’

Harry offered his own hand and then Morris and his men were gone. When the echoes of their passage had finally receded, Forsythe ordered everybody out into the corridor. ‘Time to go. Follow me.’ He took a few brisk steps then came to a halt outside the generator room. Harry nearly collided into him.

‘Where are you going, Giles? There’s nothing in there.’

‘Have you ever been inside, Harry?’

Harry frowned. ‘When I first moved into Number Ten, right after the election. I was given the full tour as part of my orientation. Impressive if you’re an electrical engineer, but I must admit I didn’t linger too long.’

‘Then let’s
reacquaint you,’ insisted Forsythe. He twisted the two steel retaining
levers out of their catches and swung the door open, walking quickly inside. Harry and the others
followed closely behind, filing down a shallow concrete ramp.

The room seemed larger than Harry remembered. Against the left-hand wall
there were four generators, each about the size of a family refrigerator, humming softly. These were the units that supplied the emergency power to Downing Street, Harry recalled. Against the right-hand wall of the room were the much larger electrical mains cabinets, labelled one to six, which
supplied regular power to the Downing Street complex. Each cabinet had a digital display across the front panel next to a numeric keypad and, as Harry looked along the row, he noticed that all the units had a small red light glowing on the display pane
l alongside the legend
Loss of mains power – Call emergency contact number
. Above their
heads, several thick pipes and cables snaked away from the six units into the floors above. At the far wall there was a workbench with some scattered tools and rags on its surface, and a well-thumbed clipboard hung from a small hook on the wall. Harry was even more puzzled. What the hell were they doing down here? Forsythe turned to Gibson, indicating the door to the generator room.

‘Mike, seal the door as best you can.’

Gibson looked around and found a thick metal crowbar lying amongst a pile of discarded rags on the workbench. He ran back up the ramp and carefully jammed the bar into the door’s mechanism. Satisfied, he leaned on the bar with all his weight but it wouldn’t budge. If somebody wanted to open the door from the outside, they’d have to blow it open. Gibson gave Forsythe the thumbs-up.

‘Well Harry, this is where it gets interesting.’

Harry didn’t say a word, confusion etched across his face. Forsythe pulled out a thick plastic card from inside his breast pocket. He snapped it sharply in half, revealing a smaller, thinner card inside. He approached the second mains power unit on the right-hand wall and, reading from the card, punched a code into the small keypad on its front panel. He then slid the card into a slot under the keypad. Harry stepped back in surprise
as the bottom half of the unit hissed loudly and swung inwards, revealing a dark recess. Harry crouched down and looked inside. It was pitch black.

‘What the hell is this?’

‘Our escape route,’ answered Forsythe.

‘You’re joking?’ He could tell from the Brigadier’s expression that wisecracks were the last thing on his mind. ‘Small and dark,’ noted Harry, standing. ‘I’m not good in confined spaces.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Forsythe
getting down onto all fours. ‘It’s a short crawl of about ten feet to another chamber on the other side of the wall. Torch please, Mike.’

Gibson fished a small Maglite from his webbing and handed it to Forsythe, who promptly disappeared inside the hollow unit.
While they waited, Gibson took
Farrell to one side.
‘Stay this side until we call you through. Keep an ear out for trouble,’ warned Gibson, pointing to the top of the ramp. ‘If anyone tries to force entry, get to the other chamber
fast and seal it from the inside, okay?’ He took a felt pen from his pocket and scrawled four digits on Farrell’s hand. ‘Punch that number to lock it and join us as quickly
as you can.’