by Unknown
As tempers flared it became clear that no decisive action would result from the conference call. It was agreed that nothing would be said or done until they consulted again the following day. Ironically, it was the only point on which agreement had been reached. Contrary to the spirit of that agreement, however, sources close to the White House hinted that there was “strong evidence” that the ultimatum was a hoax. The news flashed round the world and was greeted with relief. In all eight capitals hundreds of thousands now tried to make their way home, though movement in the streets was painfully slow in any direction.
But then on Sunday morning, nine a.m. London time, an e-mail was posted on the internet. No sooner had Arthur finished reading it than Winslow Marsden was onscreen. ‘They say they’ve concealed two unarmed devices in the White House.’ Arthur nodded. ‘They claim there are two unarmed devices in Downing Street. They have given us the co-ordinates so that we can . . . ’ He broke off. ‘As we speak, I’m being told a similar message has been received by the other six countries.’
‘So am I,’ the President confirmed. ‘I don’t get it. What are they up to?’
‘It’s their reaction to last night’s news release from Washington,’ said Arthur. ‘Your people said it was a hoax. If my guess is right, the Angels of Mercy are about to prove it isn’t. They obviously anticipated we might think they were bluffing, so they prepared themselves in advance. There can be no other explanation. They must have planted unarmed devices with that in mind. It shows we are dealing with extremely intelligent and highly professional people.’
The President did not believe a word of it. ‘I don’t buy that. There are no devices. We called their bluff, and now they’re getting desperate. That’s all there is to it.’
The President was being irrational in Arthur’s view. But once again, what was the point in arguing? ‘We’ll know soon enough,’ he said.
Within a short time reports began to come in from around the world. Unarmed devices had been located in Beijing, Tokyo, Berlin, Brussels, Paris, Moscow, in the White House, and in Numbers 10 and 11 Downing Street. In each capital there were two devices – one nuclear, one biological – sixteen in all.
Minutes later the eight leaders were again on the wrap - around screen. ‘According to our experts,’ said the French President sombrely, ‘if the two devices we found had been armed and detonated, the centre of Paris would have suffered severe contamination and massive damage. I don’t wish to speak of casualties, but the estimates are frightening. One device was a small but powerful nuclear bomb, the other a cocktail of biological poisons. This is no hoax, messieurs.’
‘The Angels have made their point,’ agreed Arthur. ‘Whatever
doubts we may have had, we now know we have to take them seriously.’
‘Ok, so I underestimated the bastards,’ said the US President, ‘but that doesn’t change a goddam thing. No one is going to push the United States around. We will never give in to terrorist blackmail.’ Arthur nodded vigorous approval. ‘Are we all agreed on that?’ he asked. The response was unanimous. No surrender. No compromise.
‘Then,’ proposed Arthur, ‘we carry on with the evacuations, and pray we get everyone out of danger in time. Meanwhile we keep trying to open communications with the terrorists. Our immediate objective must be to get an extension of the deadline.’
The Prime Minister of Japan was disconsolate. ‘What if not successful?’
It was the ‘what if’ scenario that Arthur always refused to discuss. ‘We can’t even think of that,’ he said. ‘One thing for sure, delaying the deadline will save lives.’
The German Chancellor rubbed his tired eyes and unshaven face. ‘And is giving us more time to catch the terrorists.’
Winslow Marsden flipped through the pages of a memo in front of him. ‘The CIA are certain Iran is behind the Angels.’
‘Is not infallible, the CIA,’ remarked the Russian President dryly.
‘Maybe not, but a couple of neutron bombs on Tehran would solve a lot of problems,’ snapped the President angrily.
‘Why only two?’ enquired the French President with heavy irony.
The President of the European Commission was incensed. ‘Non, non. I will not listen to such talk! The Commission will never sanction the use of nuclear weapons.’
‘What will you sanction, then?’ enquired the US President disdainfully. ‘Food parcels?’
‘I am also not agreeing to the use of nuclear weapons,’ said the German Chancellor, ‘under any circumstances.’
A heated discussion followed, in the middle of which the US President disappeared from the screen, followed shortly by the others. Once again, no course of action had been agreed. One thing was clear, if the Angels of Mercy could plant unarmed devices in supposedly secure Government buildings, they were certainly capable of planting the real thing more or less wherever they chose. It had to be assumed that the devices existed, and that they were armed. But despite the most intensive searches, not a single one had been found.
Five
Sunday, 26th October
At nine a.m. Washington time on Sunday, Winslow Marsden spoke once again to the American people,
this time making no reference to any arrests but expressing confidence that a solution to the problem was imminent, and hinting at ongoing negotiations. The truth was, that for all his reassuring words, there were no negotiations and no prospect of a solution, imminent or otherwise. On the contrary, police and security forces were losing hope of finding the devices. The search area was enormous and time was running out.
In London, operating around the clock, thousands of troops and police combed government offices, private houses and apartments, business premises, museums, railway stations, factories, depots, theatres, concert halls, shops and warehouses. Below the city, the underground and the huge network of sewers were searched. Above it flew dozens of helicopters crammed with the latest detection sensors.
Compounding all the other problems, the search was hampered by the swiftly deteriorating situation on the streets. The information about the unarmed devices had been posted on the internet by the Angels of Mercy. Any lingering hope that this might be a cruel hoax had evaporated. Those sceptics who had remained in their homes, and those who had left and had then returned, now took to the streets to swell the ever- growing crowds.
By Sunday afternoon the evacuation of London had slowed almost to a halt. Moreover there was now a new and dangerous development. A million or more people were defying the ban on the use of private cars, frustrated by the enormous queues at underground stations and bus stops. North, south, east and west, every road out of London was hopelessly blocked by cars and taxis.
In the morning, and again in the afternoon, Arthur appeared on nationwide television to appeal for calm. But all that people really wanted to hear was that the devices had been located and disarmed. Since he was not able to tell them that, nothing he said had any effect. Later that morning the cabinet met yet again, their fourth meeting since the crisis broke. At the long table were two empty chairs. On their way to Downing Street John Aitkinson, Home Secretary, and Angela Furnival, Secretary of State for Employment, had been attacked by a mob of drunken youths in Whitehall and beaten senseless.
‘It grieves me to bring you this terrible news,’ Arthur told his shocked colleagues. ‘We are witnessing the breakdown of law and order, and I fear things can only get worse. London is on the verge of mob rule. Until the crisis is resolved, I am asking you all to remain in Number 10. I cannot guarantee your safety. You are at least safer here than on the streets. Sadly the news from the other capitals is much the same, or worse. We are all of us dealing with widespread panic and hysteria.’
George Bedivere protested. ‘What about our families? We can’t just desert them.’
‘Give them whatever guidance and reassurance you can,’ said Arthur. ‘But I’m sorry, you are all vital to the success of our efforts, and your safety is paramount. The people depend on us. Our firs
t duty is to them.’
The news from overseas was increasingly worrying. From Beijing there were reports of dozens of rioters shot dead by troops in Tiananmen Square. In Moscow, the police had melted away, and the army was nowhere to be seen. The city was in the hands of looters and vandals. Every store on Kutuzovsky Prospekt had been ransacked, several public buildings had been set on fire by arsonists, and mobs were attacking the Kremlin.
In Berlin, police were battling angry, violent mobs on the Kurfurstendamm, the Unterdenlinden and Strasse des 17 June. By now nearly half the population of Tokyo and Brussels had been evacuated. Of those who remained, many had barricaded themselves in their houses, the rest had joined the mobs to loot shops and stores, or roamed the streets looking for victims to mug.
In Paris, not only shops but art galleries and museums had been looted. The Champs Elysées, the Rue de Rivoli, the Avenue de l’Opera and the streets and boulevards on both banks of the Seine were blocked with the wrecks of crashed and burned-out vehicles. In the Place de la Concorde, in the Jardins des Tuileries, around the Tour Eiffel, and in the Place Charles de Gaulle at the base of the Arc de Triomphe, rival mobs battled. Already there had been many injuries and several deaths resulting from incidents of road rage, and more than a million vehicles paralysed the city centre in one massive traffic jam. The incessant wail of car horns was like the cry of some giant primeval creature in the agony of its death throes.
Hundreds of private boats and public ferries had been seized. Those who resisted the hijackers were thrown into the river. Crowds thronged the banks and bridges of the Seine, waiting for a chance to jump onto a passing boat. As a result many capsized, sinking almost instantly, taking their terrified passengers down with them. Bodies drifted in the turbulent waters. Even strong swimmers were helpless in the powerful currents, waving their arms in desperation as they screamed for the help no one could give them. The few boats still afloat swept by, their passengers averting their eyes from the wretched souls drowning in the water.
In Washington people lay on the streets and sidewalks, some with knife or gunshot wounds, others run down by cars and trucks in the blind panic to escape the city. Many were dragged from their cars and beaten, those who beat them frequently attacked in their turn by others. A car, it seemed, was worth more than a life, or several lives, even a car that could make no progress through the blocked streets. In one tragic incident an oil tanker turned on its side and exploded, incinerating more than eighty cars and buses packed with screaming men, women and children. Traffic backed up miles from the city centre. Every road was blocked: Pennsylvania and Constitution Avenues, Wisconsin and Massachusetts, where the embassies had all been vandalised or petrol-bombed.
By late afternoon street-fighting had broken out in London. In Oxford Street, the Cromwell Road, Finchley Road, and on every bridge across the Thames, people lay exhausted or badly hurt, passers-by stepping over them with scarcely a second glance. There were no ambulances to be seen anywhere, no doctors or nurses. In the traffic jams emergency services were unable to operate; even if they had been, the hospitals were too full to cope with any more casualties. Mugged for valuables or money, or knocked down by cars, the wounded, the dead and the dying lay on trollies in corridors, on the floors of reception areas, on the pavements outside.
Across the city huge fires burned unchecked. Harrods, petrol-bombed, was a mass of flames, as was Harvey Nichols and Selfridges in Oxford Street. Virtually every shop and store in the centre of London had been looted, in Regent Street and Bond Street, Knightsbridge and Sloane Street, the King’s Road, the Fulham Road and Kensington High Street. Over Buckingham Palace and the Houses of Parliament hung a great pall of smoke.
Amidst the chaos and terror on the streets, some oases of calm remained, a sign that English phlegm was not entirely a thing of the past. A few ancient and elite London clubs remained open, their members studiously oblivious to what was happening outside. In the Garrick, a case of the finest vintage claret was being sampled in the bar. In the Athenaeum, a lively dispute raged on the subject of whether Elizabeth the First was indeed a virgin Queen. In Whites, a few senior members languidly discussed the comparative merits of the legs and breasts of the two young waitresses serving their drinks. In Grays, two dozen bottles of malt whisky were lined up on the bar, the blindfolded contestants wagering fortunes on their ability to identify them by taste.
In the dim interiors of St Paul’s and Westminster Abbey, so far untouched by vandals, a few elderly people sat quietly, heads bowed, eyes closed, praying to a God their children and grandchildren no longer believed in.
At six p.m. London time, one p.m. Washington time, the government of Iran released a statement on television and the Internet condemning all degenerate, cowardly and corrupt leaders of suffering peoples. They were, the statement said, paying the price for their godlessness, and for the contempt they had shown the Arab nations, and in particular the people of Iran. The Angels of Mercy, the statement claimed, had been driven to desperate acts by the barbarity and injustice of their treatment at the hands of the eight sons of Satan. Whilst Iran did not condone terrorism, it wished to make clear that any attack on its sovereignty would result in a terrible and appropriate response.
This carefully worded bulletin was interpreted as confirming that the Angels of Mercy were controlled by the Iranian government, or were at least operating with their full knowledge and approval. As expected the US Administration reacted strongly. If the Iranians were supporting a bunch of ruthless terrorists they would have to take the consequences. What those consequences might be was not specified, though there was naturally much speculation. Some commentators forecast a nuclear attack on Iran.
Whilst the eight leaders watched helplessly as their capital cities plunged into mayhem and chaos, a second statement released by the Iranian government less than an hour later confirmed their willingness to ‘facilitate negotiations’ with the Angels of Mercy. Within seconds, a jubilant American President was onscreen in Number 10. ‘They’re backing off, Arthur. What did I tell you? All we had to do was tough it out.’ For the first time it did indeed seem that there were grounds for hope. In the circumstances, and after consultation between all eight leaders, it was agreed, though with considerable reluctance on the part of the American President, to transmit a conciliatory message to Tehran expressing confidence that they would assist in resolving the crisis.
In response, the Iranians indicated through their overseas embassies the nature of a major concession they claimed to have negotiated. The timing of the explosions would depend on the “attitude” of each government involved.
Yet another onscreen conference was hastily arranged. Whilst the Iranian announcement was vague, no doubt intentionally so, it appeared that the terrorists were now willing to negotiate separately with each country. It was what Arthur had feared. He urged his fellow world leaders not to be deceived. ‘It’s nothing but a trap. Divide and rule. If we fall into it, they’ll play one against the other, and we shall all be the losers. I repeat, our strongest weapon – perhaps our only weapon – is our unity. If we surrender that, we are all done for.’
‘Mr. Pendragon right,’ said the Chinese President. ‘We must stand shoulder to shoulder, for the sake of future generations.’ Winslow Marsden was unimpressed. ‘It’s this generation I’m accountable to. They are the ones who put me in the White House. It’s their lives at risk. If I have to make a deal to save thousands of American lives – maybe hundreds of thousands – then I’ll sure as hell make a deal.’
‘Only a few hours ago,’ said Arthur, ‘you assured me the United States would never negotiate with terrorists. We were all agreed. No surrender, no compromise.’
‘That was a few hours ago. This is now, and we’re that much closer to a major catastrophe. The way I see it, this is a tactical withdrawal, not a retreat, and most certainly not a surrender. We’ll go after those terrorist bastards when we’re good and ready. But we’re the ones who’ll choose the time and
place, not them. Meanwhile we have no option. We have to negotiate.’
The French President agreed. ‘France too is ready to negotiate. We shall release their comrades from our prisons. We are also prepared to discuss money. I am certain they will accept much less than they have demanded. We would even, for the sake of the glory of France and to save lives, be ready to discuss some foreign policy adjustments, perhaps even some government resignations.’
The Prime Minister of Japan nodded. ‘If settlement possible for less than full demands, we are also ready to talk.’
Arthur refused to give up, though in his heart he knew he was losing the argument. ‘I beg you, all of you, think what you are doing. These people are ruthless. They cannot be trusted. Any deal they make, they will break – if not now, then in a few weeks, a few months, a few years. What will they demand next time? Our lives? Our women and children? Our countries? Our only hope is to remain united. We must show them that we speak as one, act as one. We dare not surrender to blackmail. We all have one thing in common – our belief in democracy. But what good is democracy if we are not willing to fight for it?’
‘Admirable sentiments, Monsieur Pendragon,’ said the President of the European Commission. ‘I salute an idealist. Regretfully this is a time for being practical.’ The Russian President scowled. ‘When gun is pointed at head, is luxury, idealism.’ The President of China had swiftly changed his mind. ‘Democracy, fantasy. Survival, reality.’ Arthur looked at the German Chancellor, his last remaining hope. ‘I respect your views, Mr. Pendragon,’ said the Chancellor. ‘What is more, I fear you may be right. But I have not your courage. I too am for negotiating.’ The videolink was cut, and Arthur was alone.
