'What about Ireland? We have pushed out a host of carriers there.'
'Nothing has made its way up the echelons of power there yet. I can give it a subtle nudge if you want.'
'No! Don’t pre-empt anything. I want the disease to spread organically according to the estimates we worked out. Just make sure they send their most influential scientists to investigate any new outbreaks.'
'Will you be sending more affected refugees?'
'Yes. From next week, we will start sending two ships across on a fifteen-day cycle. There are more than enough people here who naïvely believe that they will get the cure in Europe. In the next three months, tens of thousands of infected will be walking around Europe. The demand for the cure will climb through the roof.'
• • •
The snowfall had eased as Lord Butler walked across the small side road which passed down the side of the laboratory complex. He looked at his feet as he walked. Since he was a young boy, he had always been fascinated by the crunch of the snow and ice underfoot. Walking into a small prefab building, one of Alex's men stood up as he neared the desk.
'Is my room ready?’ Lord Butler asked
'Yes, sir. Mr Brun has unpacked all of your things,' he replied and walked around from behind the metal office desk. The tall man, dressed in jeans and blue work shirt, walked down the yellow prefab-walled corridor and unlocked a brown door on the right-hand side.
'If there is anything you need, just please dial 9, and I will be here to help.'
Lord Butler grunted and walked into the sparsely decorated room. It had an upright wooden cupboard against the left wall and small double bed ahead of him with turned down yellow sheets and a thick brown blanket. On the right-hand wall was a small basin with a shaving mirror. All of his toiletries had already been laid out on the glass shelf.
'Is there nothing with a bloody window in it?'
'No, sir.'
'Fine. Tell Alex I will have dinner at eight o'clock.'
The man bowed and left the room.
Lord Butler took off his down jacket and then his black overcoat. Sliding the shotgun harness off his shoulder and throwing it down on the end of the bed, he slipped out the Beretta and dagger and placed them under his pillow. With a sigh, he eased himself down onto the soft mattress. It had been a long few weeks, and he fleetingly allowed himself the luxury of feeling tired.
Grabbing the phone out of his jacket, he dialled a pre-programmed number.
'Tom Scott?' he enquired.
'Who is this?' the voice said.
'An old friend whom you chose to betray.'
'Butler?'
'Lord Butler please, Tom.'
'Fuck that, you bastard. What have you done with my family?'
'I see you want to play it like that, do you? They are safe and will remain that way until you have completed your mission.'
'What if I say that I will go and speak to your old friend Minister Kirilenko at the NEG?'
'Your wife and children will be sold here in America. You see they accompanied me on the journey across. They will be separated and sold on as sex slaves, Tom. That’s if they survive the Kharon virus.'
'You bastard! I had a feeling you were involved when that tall German gorilla came calling.'
'Now stop being like that, Tom. You’re a businessman and stand to make a lot of money if you do as I tell you. Once this crisis has brought the NEG to its knees, all the terrified, infected people will come running to those who have the Kharon cure in their possession. And, Tom, those people will be the warlords like yourself.'
'You're bloody dreaming, Butler. This will never work. Your illustrious Phoenix Council failed to get the European masses under its control. What makes you think that it will work this time?'
'That’s true, Tom, and I learnt a valuable lesson from that endeavour. I was far too decent last time. It was a mistake to try to negotiate or deal with small-time politicians, like you and the other warlords. Instead, I should have simply let the mass of people rise up on my behalf.
'All of that will be different this time. The millions of people will tear every hint of government and authority apart when I make it known to them that a cure has been found, but that the NEG and the warlords are refusing to give it to them.
'Once the riots kick off, Styx Enterprises will come to their rescue and the masses will pay almost anything to survive this. Tom, you can join me, or you can oppose me. You can either get very rich or lose everything you hold so dear.'
Static sounded over the line.
'Tom, are you going to walk away from this or carry out the plan that I set out for you?'
'I'll do it. Just don't hurt my family.'
The phone line went silent. Lord Butler smiled and looked at his watch. Two hours to dinner.
Chapter 10
Carshalton Estate, Surrey, England, UK - 2033
'Who the hell left the cow paddock gate open again?' Kyle Gibbs shouted as he walked into the old barn. 'Warren and I had to run around like lunatics getting those calves back under control again.'
Sniggers and giggles filtered around the twenty men and women who continued sorting and packing vegetables into large crates. All were seated at large wooden trellis tables that were placed around the perimeter of the barn. Two young children played in the centre of the floor with a brown puppy, trying to feed it freshly picked carrots and potatoes.
'Of course, nobody did it,' he shouted, hands on his hips. He turned and walked out. 'Warren, it seems the bloody tooth fairy has a fetish for running with cows while we are asleep. Get another deadbolt from the tool shed and fix it to the top of the gate.'
'I used the last one we had on the big gate up on the old main road,' Warren said, pushing a wheelbarrow of tools across the muddy courtyard.
'Damn it. Add it to the list of things to get from the Floodzone. Tell Kat and Christina, will you? I believe it's their turn to go in next,' he said, looking around the stone buildings that surrounded the square courtyard for any sign of the women.
Warren stopped in front of him, dropping the wheelbarrow with a clunk. 'I hate letting the woman go into London by themselves.'
'Do you want to try telling them that?' Gibbs said as he tucked his dark brown pants into the green Wellington boots.
The slim and muscular man in his late twenties let out a loud laugh. 'No thanks, your honour, I retract the statement.'
'Good thinking. I am off to get some lunch and spend some time with Stuart,' Gibbs said.
He walked out of the farm courtyard, past all the noisy goat and sheep pens, and turned up a small muddy lane towards Carshalton House.
'Gibbs!' a liquid voice called out.
Turning towards the small admin complex which was just below the main house, Gibbs smiled as he saw Christina in her trademark riding boots with the jeans tucked in, a men's work shirt with rolled up sleeves and her red down vest-jacket. Her long blonde hair was in a ponytail and her natural beauty caught his breath again. He felt himself smiling for the first time that day.
'What is it? I am off to spend some time with Stuart?'
'We have a visitor,' she said and beckoned him to join her in the office.
Gibbs walked towards the stone building with the moss-covered slate roof and ducked in through the old stable doors. The office was small and cramped with a few filing cabinets and two desks pushed against one of the sidewalls. Warren's girlfriend, Kat, was sitting behind one of them working on an old salvaged computer. Her impish face lit up with a big smile as he walked in.
'Hello, Gibbs,' a deep booming voice said from behind him.
'Tom Scott, you old bastard!' he said, looking at the drawn, scarred face of his friend. ‘This is a nice surprise. What are you doing here?'
'Just thought I would visit my favourite world-changers and see how farming life is treating them,' he replied, looking to Christina, who had taken a seat on the other desk.
Gibbs looked at the strong features of the London Warlord. A sadness
was visible in his eyes that had never been there before, or was it just tiredness? 'Going well thanks, mate. Adjustments have had to be made by all, but we now have twenty families resident on the farm and neighbouring lands, all contributing to the running and management of the commune.'
Tom nodded his head slowly.
'How are things in London?' Christina said.
Tom walked towards one of the windows which was set back in the thick stone wall and looked through the stained window panes.
'Tom?' Christina asked.
'Sorry, was just thinking about the old days and all the fun we had,' he said, turning to face them.
Gibbs frowned. 'I wouldn't call working for a group of maniacs who had their hearts set on world domination, fun.'
Tom flicked a glance to Christina and then back to Gibbs. 'Quite. But I do miss all you guys.'
'We miss you too. How is the family? The kids must be getting big.'
'Everyone's great, thanks,' he said and walked towards the door. 'Listen, the reason I came to visit was to ask you a few things about where you are trading your goods nowadays and how you are finding the markets?'
Gibbs looked at Christina.
'Is everything okay, Tom?' Gibbs asked. 'You look like a man with the world on his shoulders.'
Tom grinned. 'Just the politics of running a flood-ravaged London, and all the associated problems that go along with it. Many of the trade markets are being hit by gangs, so I just wanted to check on you folks.'
'They seem fine to us. We mostly trade at the Wimbledon Common now, or at a push, we might set up at the Clapham Bandstand. You know, where you and Andrei rescued Warren from out of the Floodzone,' Gibbs said.
Tom stared at him for a few seconds. 'Of course, I do. I want to pop in and visit your stall sometime so I thought I'd make sure where you were trading.'
'Okay… now I am worried that you are losing your mind. You are after all the Warlord of London, whose own farms trade right next to ours in both markets,' Christina said.
Gibbs's eyes narrowed at Tom’s weak smile.
'Sorry, you two, I have a lot on my plate at the moment. Anyway, where is young Stuart then? I have a small toy in the van for him.
'He’s at his lessons up in the main house with some of the other children,' Christina said as she slipped her hand through Tom's arm. 'Come along then, I am heading up there. I'll walk with you in case you get lost on your way out.'
Gibbs watched them duck out of the small door.
• • •
The herring gull swooped down and landed on the three-metre cross beam of the market stall frame. Looking down at the five creatures scurrying around beneath it, its head tilted from side to side in an attempt to see which individual was the least threatening, but also had the most food. The tall blonde creature was the scariest as she shouted orders to the others, occasionally fawning over the very short creature that was sitting on a small box. The other three were carrying packets of tasty meals that the gull desperately wanted to get a chance to open. It had two chicks on a nearby nest that demanded constant feeding.
The seagull knew that the short creatures were the easiest targets, as they never guarded the food they carried, but the wrath of their tall protective minders was always the most ferocious. With a loud squawk, the seagull spread its long wings and glided down to the ground near an older creature's stall that was adjacent to the target.
With a few bounding steps, the gull neared the short white-haired creature that was eating a sandwich. The tall protective one had its back turned, so with powerful flaps of its long white wings, the gull flew up and hovered over the small creature, snatching the treat from its grasp. Slow wing beats forced the gull up into the air and over the market stalls. A whizzing noise shot past the gull as an object nearly caused it to drop its prize.
• • •
'Kat! I told you to hurry with that damn tarp. Get it over the top of the frame so we can keep the bloody gulls from seeing what we are selling,' Christina snapped as she placed another round river stone into the small leather square of the catapult. In a fluid archery-like movement, she drew back on the twin elastic bands, aimed at the disappearing gull for a second and let go. The stone arc’d to its right as she knew it would, and she saw the gull lurch to its left, stabilise briefly then continue flying off. Christina looked down to her son, who was looking up at her with the same dark brown eyes as his father. He smiled and pointed to the disappearing bird.
'Yes, my boy, that is a thieving gull. Someday I will ping one of those damn birds.'
She knelt down to straighten his white hair then took the second sandwich out of a small box on the floor in front of him. Standing up, she looked up at a short old man who was standing near her, his arms folded.
'What's up, Old Mike?' she asked.
'It's going to be a sad day, darling,' he slurred and stroked his matted white beard before walking back behind his stall.
Christina frowned and looked at the disappearing little man whose stall was opposite theirs. Old cutlery and broken kitchen goods from a time before the flood were stacked neatly all over his table. A table that he never left unattended, so where was he off to now, she wondered.
'Christina!' a woman screamed from behind her.
Men in khaki uniform, black boots and with three-holed balaclavas covering their faces, swarmed through the adjoining stalls. Neighbouring floodlanders scrambled to get out of their way, and some were pushed down into the mud as ten men, closed in. Hair rose on the back of Christina’s neck, and fear flowed out from her core. Kat and three other women were grabbed first, twisting and biting at the men.
Where was Stuart? Christina spun around. Standing in the mud, looking up at three armed men who stood alongside a grey NEG fusion truck, was her son.
'What is bloody going on here?' she shouted as two men grabbed her arms from either side. 'Let me go, you idiots!'
She struggled forward trying to break free, but their grips only tightened. Across from her, Kat screamed and kicked out at one, catching him on the side of his masked face. His head snapped to the right, and he let out a groan.
'Bitch!' he shouted and took a step closer. The bulky man punched her in the mouth, and she went limp with the pain, her head falling forward onto her chest.
'Stop this immediately,' Christina shouted.' I am best friends with Minister Kirilenko, and I will report you for this brutality.'
'Of course you are, love,' one of the men said, with an East End London accent.
She screamed again as another man picked a confused Stuart up off the floor. 'Leave him alone, you bastard.'
Christina wrenched her arm away out of the man's grasp, fuelled by the adrenaline of seeing Stuart dragged from her. She swung it back, catching him in the throat before he could raise her hands.
She screamed again in anger and turned to the large muscular man who still held onto her arm. As she swung her right fist at his head, he reacted and dropped it down to the right, then head-butted her on the cheek. The pain shot down her neck, and she felt her legs go limp. With her vision blurring, she saw a man carrying off her wriggling son.
Chapter 11
Carshalton Estate, Surrey, England, UK - 2033
A stiff breeze caused the light cream curtains to balloon open, and one of them knocked a small picture frame off the pine bedside table. The crash made Gibbs sit up in bed as he was wrenched awake. The vacant space next to him brought back the knot in his stomach. Looking at the brightening sky outside the window, he knew that it was early and looked at his watch by the bed. Five in the morning. Shifting across the cold space next to him and over to the window, he closed it a little and looked out across the dark green paddocks and animal pens below the admin building. The farm was starting to wake. Picking up the picture, he rubbed the glass of the photo of his wife and son.
The day before, he had been awakened by the little fella jumping on the bed, white hair flopping around his head, a gurgling laugh that could soften
stone. His jaw clenched as he placed the picture back on the table and started to get dressed.
The downstairs lights were already on as he exited the main bedroom and walked along the red carpeted floor. Fraying areas hinted at the age and beating it had taken from the constant footfall over the decades. Turning left, he walked down the wide marble staircase with its black metal balustrade that swept downwards to the reception area. It was large with white walls and white painted ceilings and had two old oak tables alongside teak cupboards near the main door. The other side of the reception area had large interconnecting glass doors that went through to the breakfast conservatory.
Gibbs pushed open the old kitchen door and looked at the man who was sitting at the square oak table. A young face that belied his wisdom. Red eyes from lack of sleep stared up at him as he ran his hands through his short brown hair that was squished from sleeping on his arms.
'Morning, Warren.'
Warren Smith's gaze drifted to the bubbling black kettle that was wobbling on the top plate of the black four-door Aga. Gibbs walked over, grabbed a white cloth, then dragged the kettle to the side and began making two cups of coffee.
'I can't lose her too, Gibbs,' Warren said and went to stand next to a bank of double kitchen cabinets that were to the left of the stove.
'I’m sure they’re all okay, mate.'
'But the satphone is dead. That shouldn’t happen even if you go into the Floodzone.'
'Yes, that’s true, but someone could easily have dropped it in the water, or it could have been stolen.'
Warren gave him a smirk. 'Can we try again?'
Gibbs nodded and tossed the phone to the young man. Warren dialled from memory and waited. 'Still nothing. It's dead or turned off. I have a bad feeling about this.'
'Warren, sit down and let's have some breakfast. I know that you have bad memories from the trauma of your father dying there, but you cannot change any of that now. For the time being, you need to be strong for Kat.'
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