“We trust your judgement, Andy,” Karen says, Jim again agreeing in the background.
Something else now sounds in the background down the phone. It has my attention; it’s very faint but I distinguish it immediately. Gunshots!
“Can I speak to Jim?” I ask Karen.
“Here he is. Please look after Stacey…and Andy, thank you.”
“I will, Karen, good luck.”
Jim and Karen are right in the middle of the first area of London that was locked down and it sounds like the situation there has just entered a new phase.
Jim comes on the phone. “Thank you for looking after Stacey, Andy.”
“I will do my best, Jim,” I tell him and then change the direction of the call.
“Jim, I need to get as much information from you as you can give me.”
“I don’t have any?” Jim replies sounding surprised by my request.
“Jim, you are right in the middle of this,” I tell him, “I have just heard gunshots in the background there.”
“Have you?” he says sounding shocked.
“Yes, Jim, take it from me, can you look out of the window there and tell me everything you see?” I ask him urgently.
Jim and Karen work right in the centre of the city, in the skyscraper nicknamed the Cheesegrater. Their company recently moved into the building, and any information Jim can give me on how things are looking on the ground there, may have a big bearing when deciding the best course of action for me and the girls.
“Andy, it looks like bedlam down there,” he says, but then says nothing else. Bedlam? What’s that? That’s the problem with civilians; they are all drama, no fact. And he simply doesn’t realise that in this kind of scenario, only fact matters and every second counts.
“Jim, you’ve got to tell me what you’re seeing,” I say exasperated. “Exactly what you see.”
“Sorry, Andy, well, it's just total chaos. I’m looking down on Leadenhall Street, with Lloyds of London and the Willis Building in front of me. There are, I’d say, around forty, maybe fifty people in the streets running in all different directions. There are a couple of crashed cars, one’s on fire and the other’s crashed into the side of the Lloyds building. Some kind of army truck has just pulled up farther up the street and has parked across the street. Some soldiers are getting out, and they have guns, Andy. Like you said.”
“Okay, Jim; what else is happening?” I’m now hungry for any information he can give.
Jim carries on, “Here comes another car, it's going too fast. Oh, my God, Andy! It’s just driving into the people on the road, it’s knocking them everywhere. It…it just ran right over the top of someone, it’s awful! Hold on. There’s a person chasing the car, it looks like a woman. How can she possibly keep up and run that fast? What? She has just jumped up and smashed through the back windscreen into the car, and now the car’s swerving out of control!”
Jim was right, it is chaos there, I think as Jim tells me that the swerving car has just crashed into and driven through into the Lloyds building.
“Andy,” Jim says urgently, “a man’s just jumped on top of another man and it looks like he’s biting him……or trying to eat him. The man is trying to fight him off, trying to get away…they have both just fallen to the floor. Bloody hell, a woman has just jumped on top of them both.”
Again, gunfire sounds, multiple automatic shots. And, this time, Jim hears them.
“The soldiers have just opened fire, Andy and just shot the man and woman to pieces. Holy shit, it’s unbelievable! There is blood everywhere, all over the pavement!”
I’ve heard enough and need to decide quickly the best course of action for me and the girls.
“Thanks, Jim, got to go, I’ll try to keep in touch with you and Karen. Want me to put you back on to Stacey?”
“Yes, please Andy,” then Jim suddenly continues. “People are running into Lloyds, through the hole the car made in the wall; these people are moving so quickly in what looks like some kind of swarm."
“They must be infected with this virus, Jim. You and Karen, go get as many supplies together as you can, especially water, Jim. And find somewhere you can barricade yourselves in until this ends,” I tell him.
“Yes, Andy, thanks. Can I speak to Stacey? Wait a second! The main entrance to Lloyds has just opened and people are running out; there are lots of them, Andy, and they look like they’re running for their lives!”
“Jim, I have to go,” I say. “Please ask Stacey not to tell Emily anything; it will be best for me to explain it to her, Jim.”
“Of course, Andy. And please do all that you can to protect Stacey.”
“Yes, of course, I will Jim. And good luck to you and Karen. Find somewhere to hide.”
I go back into the kitchen and give a worried-looking Stacey her phone back.
Stacey quickly takes the phone and is immediately talking to her parents again, but after a second, she gets up from her chair at the kitchen table and moves to the breakfast bar whilst at the same time lowering her voice. Jim must have told her to make sure that Emily cannot hear the conversation.
Emily seems completely engrossed in her game on the iPad, so while she is, and while Stacey is busy on the phone, I go back upstairs. Some decisions need to be made—and made quickly, with no distractions—as to what our options are to give me the best chance of keeping myself and the girls safe.
On the way upstairs, I check my phone to see if Josh has tried to get in touch. My phone hasn’t made any sound or vibrated but I can’t help but look and wonder if he’s safe, and what part he’s playing in this mess? However, there’s nothing new on my phone.
The television is still on in my bedroom, the same reporter giving his latest update. The situation is now more apparent to me than it is to him, so I mute the TV and immediately start running through in my head what our options are.
While formulating these available options, I start pulling at the wardrobe in the corner of the bedroom, moving it away from the walls. Behind the wardrobe and sunk into the wall, there’s a 12” by 8” safe. I stoop and dial in the required numbers. When installing the safe, I decided against an electronic one because electronics had a tendency to fuck up just when you needed them.
The final number is dialled in, and the steel handle pulls down with ease, so the door swings open. Inside, fitted snugly into the interior of the safe, is one black water-resistant holdall. Taking it out, I feel its weight and turn to put the bag onto the bed, then swing the safe door closed, pull the handle up and whizz the dial around before standing and pushing the wardrobe back into place.
The first possible option, which has already come to me, would be to evade the troops enforcing the quarantine and escape the city, but this is quickly discounted. Whilst getting out of the danger zone altogether would be by far our most favourable option, I conclude that the odds of our success would be pretty much zero. The odds of evading the troops would shorten substantially if it was just me; there would still be no guarantee, but with the two girls with me, it would be almost impossible.
Sitting on the bed and looking down at the holdall, which also has a dial-coded padlock on the zips to deter prying fingers, I consider the second possible option.
This would be to fortify our current position, barricade ourselves in and try and ride it out from here. Again, I’m forced to discount this, since the house has far too many weak points which couldn’t be easily fixed to withstand any sort of determined attack. There is no basement or any other position we could successfully defend.
There is, therefore, only one option available to us that I can think of.
Concentrating on the holdall, I dial the code in to open the lock; sure enough, the padlock pops open with ease. Reaching into the bag and taking the top object out—a thing all wrapped in cloth—memories return to me, and not many of them good ones. As I unwrap the cloth, these memories get stronger, especially when the unmistakable smell of gun oil hits my nostrils.
Then in the palm of my hand is my Sig Sauer P226; I have not held this firearm since it was locked away in the safe about five years ago. Other weapons I have held since leaving the army have all been issued to me by Orion, on the very rare occasion it has been required on company operations, but this one is mine, a firearm that by law I should no longer possess. But I couldn’t bring myself to lose it; this Sig has saved my life too many times for me to just discard it.
My hand closes around the grip and then instinct takes over. Within seconds, the gun is checked over, and I see that it is unloaded, the safety is checked, and that there’s no sign of any degradation. Its mechanism is working perfectly. Reaching back into the bag and taking out another bundle wrapped in oiled cloth, inside are four magazines for the Sig, each with fifteen rounds loaded, and I know there are another four fully-loaded magazines in the bag. Picking up one of the magazines, I check the spring mechanism then swiftly push it home into the handle of the Sig and pull back the action; the reassuring clicks mean we’re set to go.
I wipe the Sig over, getting rid of any excess oil and setting it down onto the bed. Then I empty the rest of the contents of the bag onto the bed beside it. Firstly, I pick up the well-worn black leather gun holster and secure it around my shoulders; it fits like an old glove. Slipping the Sig into the holster on my left, I reach for the black Gerber knife sitting on the bed and secure it into the same holster on my right.
"Dad!" Emily shouts from downstairs.
"Yes, darling, I'm coming," I shout back.
Moving back to the wardrobe and opening its door, I grab the black windbreaker jacket hanging there and put it straight on, zipping it up. The last thing I want is for my new accessories to alarm the girls; they will not notice them under the jacket.
I quickly pack the rest of the equipment on the bed into a small black backpack I’ve also just got from the wardrobe. Apart from that is, a spare Military ID card I just happen to have kept, which I place into my inside jacket pocket. Then after placing the backpack under the bed, I head back downstairs.
In the kitchen, Stacey is still seated at the kitchen bar staring at the television with her phone cradled in her two hands in front of her. Thankfully, the volume on the TV is quite low. Emily, however, has moved onto the kitchen floor, lying on her belly with her iPad on the floor. It looks like she is drawing a picture on one of the clever Apps these things have. Her legs are waving in the air behind her as if she hasn’t a care in the world.
“Right, girls, we are going out, so have you both had enough to eat? I’m going to get some food together for us to have later; is there anything else you two want to take?”
I try to sound as casual as possible and move towards the fridge to start getting the supplies ready. As I do, it’s Stacey who speaks first.
“Andy,” she starts, “I don’t think we are allowed to go out. At least, that’s what they’ve been saying on the news?”
“Why aren’t we allowed to go out, Dad?” Emily pipes up. “Where are we going to go, anyway?”
Thinking the girls wouldn’t have any questions or need an explanation was foolish of me. So again, deciding on telling the truth, or a version of the truth, I do give them an explanation.
“Well, girls, as you know, there is some trouble at the moment in the city, which is why the police have asked everyone to stay at home, but I am sure they will sort the problem out very soon. I’m afraid I do have to go into work because there are some documents that the police need from me to help them, and so they’ve said it’s okay for us to travel to the office.”
Stacey is looking at me strangely, obviously having some doubts about my explanation, but I press on, nonetheless.
“So, we are taking a trip to the office to send these documents over to help the police. Emily, can you go upstairs and pack some toys and maybe your colouring things into your pink bag, and anything else you want to take?
“Do we have to go into your work, Dad?” Emily says, pulling a face.
“Yes, darling, I’m afraid so, so pop up and get your bag ready. I’ll be up in a minute to help you.”
“Okay,” is the only response I get from her. Stacey then volunteers to go and help Emily, but I ask her to stay here to give me a hand. Emily drags herself up from the floor, leaving her iPad exactly where it is, in the middle of the floor. She goes out of the kitchen door and can be heard stomping up the stairs.
Leaning down to pick up the iPad, I start to give Stacey a more accurate explanation, telling her that we don’t know what is going to happen with the situation in the city and that getting to the Orion Building is the best and safest place for us to be.
“Do we really have permission to travel to your work?” she asks.
“Not strictly, speaking,” I reply, “but it is going to be the safest place for us. I know a lot of the police if we run into any, and it should only take us about fifteen minutes to get there because there won’t be any traffic.”
“Okay," she says, “what do you want me to do?”
Smiling at her, I ask her to get the big reusable Sainsbury’s shopping bags from the cupboard and fill them with as much food as she can from the fridge and cupboards, then get my car keys and go to the garage. There, she should put the bags into the boot of the Land Rover. I ask her to also fill as many bottles as she can find with water, telling her to pour away any bottled pop or juice, fill them with water and put them in the boot as well.
Stacey is now looking a little concerned, but I reassure her it’s only a precaution, just in case we need it. This seems to ease her mind a little.
My logic behind going to the Orion Building is as follows:
The building is extremely secure, both structurally and electronically. The company commissioned the new building over three years ago, designing it to be a virtual fortress to ensure the security of the sensitive data, kept on site for Orion’s “customers”. I had a fair amount of input in designing the security features of the structure and once the building is locked down, it will take a small army to breach it.
The personnel on site, many of whom are either ex-soldiers or highly trained security operatives and there will be a good few hands-on-deck by now.
The building is self-sufficient with its own generators and stores, enough to last a week or two if rationed properly.
The Armoury. Orion holds its own clandestine weapons locked away in a vault. These are strictly 'off book' and only known to members of staff with high enough security clearance. They are there so they can be moved quickly to operations, in theory abroad but also at home if ever necessary. The contents of the vault, which are considerable, are highly illegal in the UK but are kept there under the noses of visiting dignitaries to the company, including MPs, PMs and even members of the Royal family.
Am I overreacting, this could all be cleared up and go away as quickly as it seems to have arrived? Maybe the authorities are overreacting too or being over cautious, maybe this is not as serious as it is looking to me right now? The news tomorrow could be reporting that the whole incident was blown out of all proportion, that a few Members of Government’s heads have rolled and that the usual costly, lengthy and futile enquiries have been launched to investigate the whole debacle and ensure it doesn’t happen again.
Let us all hope this is the case tomorrow, I think, so we can all still carry on with our lives as we always have. I truly hope this great capital city called London is back to its usual hectic bustle!
This may well be the case and truly I hope it is—but from what I have discovered so far about this situation from Colonel Reed, from my conversations with Karen and Jim—and yes, from what I have seen on the television—this is serious, very serious.
My training and experiences over the years have taught me, sometimes at great cost, that underestimating possible threats and dangers can be disastrous. This is not going to happen when my family could be at risk.
Chapter 5
Stacey comes back into the kitchen from the ga
rage, looking very worried; who can blame her? She sees me and attempts a smile. I give her a reassuring smile back and ask her if she has got everything into the Discovery or Disco, as Emily likes to call my car. She has, so I ask her if she can go and check on Emily and help her get her bag sorted? She hands me the car keys and goes upstairs, all the while looking down at her phone.
Walking across the kitchen, I go into the garage myself.
The garage is a big double one with plenty of storage space, my black Discovery with privacy glass on all the back windows parked in the middle, and tall steel storage racks surrounding it. Turning on all the lights so I can see easily, and moving to the back of the car, I open the boot and see all the food and bottles of water where Stacey has put them; there needs to be more space, however, so the provisions are re-stacked. Then I turn to the racks and start stacking other equipment into the boot alongside the provisions, a holdall of general equipment, two sleeping bags, tent, rucksack, stove and shovel to name a few.
Turning again, I finally grab mine and Emily’s waterproof camping jackets and place them on top of the other stuff, keeping the pile low enough to give me a clear view out of the back window. Most of the equipment is brand new; the farthest we have gone camping so far is, I’m afraid to say, our back garden on a warm night earlier in the summer. Civilian life does take over very quickly, especially when you have to raise a little girl and balance working full time!
Checking my watch, time is moving quickly; it’s already 9.35 a.m. and we need to get on the road to Orion. Going back into the house and straight upstairs, I go to see how the girls are getting on.
They are both sitting on the floor looking at Emily’s pink bag in front of them, its top open and full to bursting.
“Dad, we can’t get my bag closed,” Emily says, frustrated.
Capital Falling Trilogy Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 3
