The Emerging

by Tanya Allan

  “I suppose not. The ladies loo is on the first floor. When you’re done, come right back here, okay?”

  “Thanks.”

  Fortunately, the toilet had a window, and within seconds, she was bounding out of Uxbridge and aiming for the M25 between the M40 and the M4. She wasn’t sure where about it was, but looking at the traffic, she could follow the tail-backs to the cause.

  Mrs Lambert would be arriving at the police station soon, and so she knew that she had to get back really quickly.

  She saw the police helicopter and the eight lanes of stationary traffic, so knew she was getting close. There was the dirty van, on the southbound carriageway hard shoulder, with police cars parked close to, but far enough to hopefully not get caught in a blast.

  The motorway snaked through Buckinghamshire countryside at this point, with fields to the east and woodland to the west. She hovered above the police helicopter for a moment, hoping that their attention was on what was going on below them.

  How can I communicate with the police without drawing attention to myself? She asked herself.

  There was a very large articulated truck below them, at the front of the queue. She had a brain wave.

  Hovering above the scene was the Metropolitan Police’s helicopter, call-sign India 99. Lee Holder was an experience police helicopter operator. He had been working in India 99 for the last eight years, so when he looked down and saw something strange, his actions were automatic as he focussed his camera onto the top of the truck’s trailer unit.

  Letters suddenly appeared on the roof of the trailer below. The truck was a dirty white articulated lorry, and one that needed a good clean.

  The message was simple and easy to understand;

  POLICE – THERE IS LITTLE TIME TO ARGUE. THE VAN WILL BE MOVED IN FIVE MINUTES TO A NEW LOCATION IN THE CENTRE OF THE FIELD THREE HUNDRED METRES TO THE EAST. YOU MUST BE READY TO FOLLOW, OR PLACE VEHICLES INTO THE FIELD IN PREPARATION.

  IF YOU UNDERSTAND THIS, HAVE ONE OFFICER LEAVE THE LAND ROVER AND WAVE UP TO THE HELICOPTER.

  PC Holder called down to the men on the ground, and then put a call to the superintendent who was Gold Commander in the Major Incident room.

  “What do we do, sir?” the Chief Inspector in charge of the firearms officers asked.

  The Superintendent was stumped.

  “From whom has this message originated?” he asked.

  “Sir, this message has just appeared as if by magic on the roof of the truck below. No one was on the truck, so someone is watching and seems to think they can do this.”

  “Can we communicate back?”

  “We can try, sir. We could get someone to write in the dirt on the truck roof as well.”

  PC Terrry Watts was a traffic officer on scene and so when he was asked to clamber onto the roof of the truck and draw in the dirt, he thought someone was pulling his plonker.

  “Someone’s pulling my plonker,” he said, with a mouthful of sandwich.

  “Get up there and follow the directions of Gold Commander,” his sergeant said.

  Grumbling, he did as he was told.

  “Ask; who are you?” the radio squawked at him.

  WHO ARE YOU? He wrote in the dirt.

  Moments later a new set of words appeared.

  YOU DON’T NEED TO KNOW. JUST KNOW I CAN AND WILL DO THIS. IF YOU NEED PROOF, WATCH THE BLUE MAZDA IN THE FOURTH LANE.

  Suddenly, the Mazda sports car left the ground and was moved fifty yards forward, into the empty cordoned area. Then, it was moved straight back to where it started from.

  YOU HAVE FOUR MINUTES LEFT. GET YOUR OFFICERS INTO THE FIELD.

  All the officers in the Incident Room looked at the Superintendent.

  “Show me the film again,” he said.

  They replayed the video link from the helicopter. It was clear. The Mazda moved and not under power.

  The Superintendent made a decision, one he was never going to regret.

  “We need to get that damn van off the motorway. If there is no other way, then we might as well trust whoever it is. Get the firearms teams into the field, now!” he said.

  Keira watched with some relief as the police moved rapidly. The Land Rover drove at the fence and easily destroyed it. Then, all the police vehicles followed it, taking up a position somewhere in the middle of the field. There were no livestock in the field. Keira had checked.

  The Helicopter Video link showed numbers as they appeared on the roof of the truck.

  10 - 9 – 8 – 7 – 6 – 5 – 4 – 3 – 2 – 1….

  The van suddenly left the ground, rising to about fifty feet off the ground, and then it flew sideways to land in the field, in the middle of the new police-cordoned area. It was rocking gently on its springs when, moments later, one of the members of the firearm team shot something through the side window of the van. Clouds of smoke came from the broken window, and the firearms teams approached with ballistic shields raised, opened the doors and dragged the two occupants out. Then they all moved very quickly away from the van.

  The traffic officers on the Motorway stared in disbelief at the van, and then scratched their heads. One moment it had been sitting there, and then, almost as fast as they could think, it was in the middle of a field where if it exploded, no one would get hurt, except the two people on board. There was no reason to close the motorway any more. Moments later, the snarled up traffic started moving again.

  “I’m done here!” Keira said, and bounded back to the police station.

  After scrambling through the loo window, she arrived back at the interview room as a different female officer was walking down the same corridor.

  “Keira Frost?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Here to make a statement?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “I’m PC Karen Mills; do you want a cup of tea?”

  Keira grinned.

  “That sounds marvellous; one sugar, please.”

  Nineteen

  The Prime Minister sat at his oval cabinet table when the three men were shown into the room. They sat without being invited and glanced nervously at each other.

  The Prime Minister sat with his hands clasped together, he did not look happy.

  “You three are supposed to be my security experts. Does any one of you have the slightest idea as to what happened earlier today?”

  None could answer.

  “How about the identity of the person who undoubtedly saved our asses?”

  None of them had a clue.

  “You have seen the film?” he asked.

  The men nodded.

  “Have you been fully briefed?”

  They nodded again.

  “You will be pleased to know that I’ve just heard from the Bomb-disposal people that there was enough explosive in that damn van to take out the junction. It was timed to go off at 5pm, so in the middle of the rush-hour. I do not need to tell you of the mayhem that would have caused.”

  One of the men cleared his throat. He was Sir Giles Famshawe, head of MI5.

  “Sir Giles?”

  “We’ve managed to identify the occupants of the van. The male suspect possessed a false Portuguese passport in the name of Benjamin Gomez, but his real name is believed to be Mohammed Mehmet Khan. He has known links to several different terrorist groups in the Middle East and in Pakistan. He was last logged recruiting fighters in Pakistan. The woman is his girlfriend, one Shamin Khan – no relation, and is a British subject. We understand she was recruited by Khan while she studied in Pakistan. Her father actually reported him as being a suspected terrorist several days ago.”

  “Why was he not picked up?”

  “We understand that her father went to a London police station after having offered the man a considerable sum of money to leave his daughter. Threats were made, and the officer taking the report noted that he suspected it was a domestic disagreement.”

  “Which it was, but we could have actioned the intelligence?”


  “Indeed.”

  “How about the other man; the one they dropped off and the girl reported?”

  “He’s saying nothing. He sits in his cell and prays all day. He refuses to answer any questions and we have no idea of his real identity. He had some false papers and we have no idea as to how he entered the country. We assume it was either illegally or on a passport in a false name. The genuine holder of the documentation is actually in prison in Pakistan.”

  “Robin?”

  The Prime Minister looked at the next man. Robin Reece-Flynn, the head of MI6.

  “Nothing for any sources. We can confirm that we know about Mohammed Khan, but have nothing on the other two.”

  “Archie?”

  The commanding officer in charge of the SAS did not expect to have to find answers, as his role was to send the chaps in to deal with the terrorists. He was here as a courtesy more than anything else.

  “Nothing to report, sir.”

  The door opened and a tall, elegant woman strode into the room clutching a slim briefcase. She was in a dark skirt and jacket, and although she could be anything from thirty-five to forty-five, all the men knew that she was older than she looked.

  Her hair was neatly bobbed, but it was her eyes that were her most outstanding feature. They were brown, but of an unusual colour. They were almost amber. They also had the disconcerting effect of making anyone who made eye contact with her feel incredibly vulnerable and uncomfortable.

  “Sorry I’m late, sir,” she said, sitting next to the Prime Minister.

  “Thank you for coming at such short notice, Amber. You know the chaps, don’t you?” he said.

  She smiled, nodding at the three men.

  “I know them, but they’ve probably forgotten me.”

  There was a little embarrassment over this comment. Archie Macrae, the soldier, had a vague memory of an incident on a Caribbean island back in the seventies, but couldn’t quite remember the details. The others just felt uncomfortable, but didn’t know why.

  “I’d be interested to hear your views?” the Prime Minister said.

  “I’ve gone through the course of events on my way over here, and I think I can actually help. We’re dealing with a highly sophisticated and skilled individual who has displayed remarkable resourcefulness and initiative, as well as shown a mature level of social awareness. The fact that we have no real idea as to her identity is testimony to her intelligence and ability to cover her tracks.”

  “Her?”

  “I have no doubt that the person responsible is a female, and probably quite young.”

  “Young?”

  “Under twenty.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “She reminds me of me rather a long time ago. Had it been a male, then I think the whole issue would have been dealt with far less carefully and probably involved a great deal more drama. I’ve read through the officers reports, and believe I have a suspicion that I know who she is.”

  “Who is she?”

  “No, with respect, Prime Minister, this has to be handled very carefully. I need a cast-iron assurance that I am to be the only one to make contact and to recruit her. This is not some fly-by-night vigilante, as she has displayed a level of power quite awesome in one so young and inexperienced. I am the only one who can help her reach her full potential, and although I trust my colleagues implicitly, I don’t think they’d have a clue how to deal with her.”

  The men muttered in an almost-offended sort of way, but actually all were grateful not to have landed the difficult task of locating and dealing with anyone who has the powers that she appeared to possess.

  “What do you propose?” the Prime Minister asked.

  “Nothing, immediately; we’ll let this all settle down and allow everyone to believe that our police are still the best in the world. Those who witnessed the paranormal activity will have to be spoken to, and I suggest that I be the person to do that.”

  “Agreed, what next? As we don’t want this person to just disappear, do we?”

  “She won’t, I promise.”

  “I’m still not convinced she’s a girl,” said the MI5 man.

  “Trust me, I know what I know,” said Amber with a smile.

  “What about the terrorists; they’re not talking?” the SAS commander asked.

  “Where are they being held?”

  “They’re all at different police stations in West London. The press are being a bit of a pain in the arse, as usual, but it’s still early days. The press release has been brief and to the point; a terrorist act was nipped in the bud by effective police work. No one was hurt and no property seriously damaged. A quantity of homemade explosive material has been recovered. We are not seeking other persons at this time,” said the MI5 man.

  “Let me know where they are each being held, and I’ll go and see if we can free up some cooperation. I might just bring along a companion, as a sort of initiation rite, if you know what I mean?”

  The Prime Minister was surprised.

  “That soon? I thought you wanted things to settle down a bit?”

  “I do, but she’ll be feeling frustrated at not being able to see what happens next.”

  “How can you possibly know this?”

  “Because it’s what I’d be feeling if I were she.”

  “Can you be certain that she’s one of the good guys?” asked the MI6 director.

  Amber smiled.

  “Oh yes, she is definitely one of us. Now, if you don’t mind, I have to go and see a girl.”

  Mrs Lambert had been quiet all the way back to the college. Not that Keira was interested in saying much either. They had the car radio on and listened to Radio Four news, as it was more comprehensive than any of the others.

  Needless to say, Shannon was full of questions as soon as they got back.

  The others were aware only that Keira went missing for a couple of hours and that Mrs Lambert had to go and collect her. There was curiosity, but nothing out of the ordinary.

  After tea, Mrs Lambert banged her spoon for silence.

  “Girls; as you are by now aware, there was an incident this afternoon where one of our number witnessed part of what is being called a failed terrorist plot. Keira behaved most correctly in identifying some chemicals that were possibly to be used in the manufacture of explosives, and assisted the police to locate and arrest those involved. It is vital that we do not speak of this matter to anyone outside the school, and that includes boyfriends and family. I do not want the press to come to the college, and to twist the facts for their own version of events. Is this clear?”

  It was, abundantly clear. The girls looked at Keira with renewed respect. She was grateful to retire to her room for a study period and obtain some peace and quiet.

  Mrs Lambert was in her study when she glanced out of the window to see the sleek, black car pull up outside the front. It was a Jaguar sports car, not that she was any sort of expert, but even she could see that it was new and had darkened windows.

  A tall, well-dressed woman got out of the driver’s seat and glanced at the window through which Mrs Lambert watched. She made eye-contact with the older woman, which sent shivers of ice run down her spine. She immediately knew that this woman was here to see Keira.

  Doreen heard the front bell being pulled, and listened as someone went to answer the door. She stood in preparation to meet the newcomer.

  “Mrs Lambert, there’s a lady here. She says she’s from the Home Office,” said the secretary.

  “Please, ask her to come in,” she said.

  As soon as Amber walked into the Head-teacher’s study, she was aware that this woman not only knew about the girl, but had actively assisted her.

  “Thank you for seeing me, Mrs Lambert. Can I just say how fortunate Keira is to have such an understanding and intelligent woman as a mentor?”

  Doreen was blown away by the use of her own name and that of Keira’s. She felt confused and back-footed. Her visitor was an attract
ive woman of indeterminate age. Doreen noticed that she wore a wedding ring on her left ring finger.

  “Let me be perfectly frank with you. My name is Amber Robbins and I work for a select department within the security service at the Home Office. I am a specialist, and as such it is my task to locate and recruit similarly gifted individuals to join a very select group. Just so you know, I can read minds and possess other skills that most people would find disconcerting at best and downright terrifying at worst. When I was at school, I was blessed by a wonderful woman who was my teacher. She was to become my mother, as my own mother passed away when I was very young, but if it hadn’t been for Jenny, then who knows what sort of muck-up I would have made of things.

  “Now in you I identify another, just like Jenny, who can see past the usual prejudices that our society breeds. You’ve done just the right thing for Keira, but I have to tell you that it’s now my turn to help her develop and grow to understand those gifts with which she has been endowed.”

  Doreen Lambert stood, unsure how to reply.

  “You don’t have to reply, as I am not going to take her away from here. You have shown me that this is the best possible place for her to finish her education, so she will complete her A-levels here, and then look to her next goals in life, whatever they may be.”

  While she was talking, Amber sought with her mind the girl in question. Keira wasn’t hard to find.

 

 

 

 

 

 

  Keira grinned and stood up, putting her books away.

 

  Doreen was startled when someone knocked on the study door.

  She opened it to find Keira standing there.

  Doreen said nothing, but opened the door for the girl to walk in.

  “Hello, Keira. It’s good to finally meet you. I was very impressed with how to managed things today. You were very resourceful.”

  “Thank you; I tried to be as neat as I could,” she said, frowning. “How did you find me?”

  “I read the statement you made to the police and then I spoke to the female officer that you saved from being shot. She wondered how you managed to run two hundred metres in less than five seconds. You tried to make her believe it wasn’t as far, and she believed you. I didn’t.”