My vision blurred but I was actually glad. Bleeding out like this would be a hell of a lot easier than being staked or electrocuted. Maybe if I taunted him some more he'd even put a bullet in my head.
I hyperventilated, trying to make the pain subside. I'd been shot in the other leg the year before; I remembered this pain and knew I could master it.
"Don't talk about my boy like that," said the general, his voice full of calm menace.
I looked around and saw that Tariq was fading away. The blood from his gut wound was dripping down his naked torso and soaking into his trousers. His eyes were rolling back in his head.
My leg wound wasn't that bad. It hadn't hit the artery so it wasn't life threatening. I needed Blythe to shoot me again.
"Who, David?" I shouted. "The baby you nursed, the boy you played football with, the man you trained? The man you murdered? The son who loathed and detested everything you stand for? Him?"
The general roared in fury and came at me, pistol whipping me over and over until I blacked out. As the world slipped away, I felt only relief. It was all over. I didn't need to fight any more. My battles were done, my sacrifice made, all my sins paid for. I let the comforting darkness embrace me and I fell into deep, soft, warm oblivion. My last thoughts were of Jane and Dad. I saw them in my mind's eye, standing on the grass outside the original St Mark's. They were holding hands and smiling at me, their faces full of love.
"I'm proud of you, son," said Dad.
"I love, you, Lee," said Jane.
I felt myself floating free of my body.
"Sod this," said the voice in my head, pulling me back to reality. "I'm not having this at all. Pull yourself together, Nine Lives. Don't be such a loser. Wake the fuck up, find a way out of this, and castrate this motherfucker, or I'll come back from the dead and do it my bloody self."
I could hear a voice. I listened carefully, assuring myself that it was external. The accent was American but the voice was unfamiliar.
I was still tied up, my leg was wet with blood and I hurt all over. My head felt like it was going to burst. I tried to open my eyes but found only one of them would respond; the other was swollen shut.
"… spied her rounding up the children," the voice was saying.
Squinting, one-eyed, through the blood, I saw the general standing by his desk talking to someone I couldn't make out.
"I'm sorry, Sir, I don't understand," he said. "What exactly am I supposed to do with the children we capture?"
"Put 'em on a plane to New York, General. We have need of them here."
I couldn't be sure, but it sounded like the voice was coming from a speaker. Of course – he was on the video link, talking to his bosses in America. But it wasn't the president this time, merely one of his subordinates.
"Let me be clear," said the general. "We're in a position to impose rule of law on this whole island, but the primary objective of our occupation of Britain is to capture all the children and ship them to America?"
"Yes, General."
"May I ask why, Sir?"
"You may not," said the man, smugly. "Those are your orders and you will carry them out. Am I to understand that you have an issue with this directive?"
"I just don't understand, Sir. We've spilt a lot of blood getting to this point. I've done some things… some things I'm not entirely comfortable with. A new beginning, he said. A new American empire, won through force of arms but proceeding in justice. Those were the president's exact words to me, Sir."
"Don't quote the president to me, General."
"But how is that to be achieved by rounding up children?"
"That's not your concern, soldier," barked the man. "I possess information that you do not. There is a bigger picture here and you will play your part. That is your job, General, lest you forget. I am your commander-in-chief and I have given you a direct order that you will obey. Is that clear?"
There was a long silence.
"I said is that clear?" shouted the man.
"Yes, Sir," replied the general quietly.
"Then snap to it, soldier."
I tried to turn my head to see how Tariq was doing, but I got shooting pains in my neck every time I tried, so I gave up. Eventually I managed to open my good eye fully and I saw the general turning off the video conference.
"Trouble with management?" I asked, my voice sounding weak even to myself.
The general turned to face me, his face troubled and uneasy. "You still alive?"
"My granddad…" I broke off in a fit of coughing that brought blood up into my mouth. I spat it out, took a ragged breath, and went on. "My granddad was a soldier. Major General. He told me an army is only as good as the orders it receives. Who's giving your orders, General? 'Cause from where I'm sitting, it sounds like your boss is a crazy old fucker who might just be the world's biggest paedophile. And if you're taking orders from him, that makes you the world's biggest kiddie pimp. Ask yourself, General, is that what you signed up for?"
Blythe walked over to me and stared into my face, studying me. He was calmer now, his fury spent. "Who the hell are you, boy? The things you do, the way you talk. I can't decide whether you're the bravest soldier I ever met, or some kind of lunatic."
I laughed, but it sounded more like a dying gasp. "I told you, General. I'm just a boy trying to protect my family."
"I think I'm starting to believe you."
"What are you trying to protect, General? What's your endgame?"
"Same as it ever was, son," he said firmly. "Freedom."
"And this is freedom, to you? Torture, massacre, impaling civilians on stakes, burning them alive in football stadiums, killing your own son when he questions your motives. This is your freedom?"
He shook his head, momentarily allowing the doubt and weariness to show on his granite face. "No, son, it isn't."
"So what's this all for?" I yelled. "Why are you following these orders?"
"Because I'm a soldier, it's all I know how to do. It's what I am, a thing that follows orders, no matter what the cost. I don't know how to stop." He paused and then said softly "'I am in blood stepped so far that, should I wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o'er.'"
He stepped back then, shook his head, took his handgun from his desk and raised it so it was pointing right between my eyes.
"I'm sorry, son. Close your eyes."
I shook my head as much as I was able. "No, General. Eyes open."
"So be it."
He squeezed the trigger, the hammer retracted, and I waited for the impact that would end me.
Chapter Nineteen
"Hello? Anybody there?"
The voice crackled out of my left trouser pocket.
The general narrowed his eyes. "Thought you'd come alone." He put the gun down and fished the radio out of my trouser pocket. It was slick with blood, and he wiped it clean on my other trouser leg.
"Lee, Tariq, you there?" It was Jack. I cursed inwardly. So they'd ignored my instructions and waited for us, which meant that now they'd be captured and all of this would have been for nothing.
The general held the radio up to his mouth and pressed the transmit button. "I'm afraid the boys can't come to the phone right now. Can I take a message?"
For a few seconds all we heard was the crackle of static and then Jack said "Good morning, General." He was keeping a cool head. Good. "Are they still alive?"
"The boy is. The Iraqi," he glanced at Tariq, "is still breathing. Don't know if he'll be doing that for much longer. To whom am I speaking?"
"You're addressing the rightful King of England, General. I rule this country, and you are not welcome here."
What the hell was his game? He should know by now that this was not a man you bluffed. I sat there, powerless to intervene, terrified for my friends. I hoped Jack knew what he was doing.
The general laughed. "Son, you sound about fifteen."
"I'm not the first fifteen-year-old king of England, General. And I won't be the last. I
'm calling to give you a simple choice."
Blythe rolled his eyes for me, a moment of theatre. Then, grinning, he said "Your Majesty?"
"Leave now. Get in your planes and go back to America. Or I will destroy you and your army utterly." His voice wavered, betraying his nervousness. He didn't quite pull it off, and the effect was awkward rather than threatening.
For a moment the general was too stunned to respond. Then he began to laugh, a deep, rich, booming laugh. "My God, you Brits really know how to raise your kids!"
"Unlike you, General," I said pointedly. That stopped his laugher abruptly.
He flashed me a look of pure hatred and spoke into the radio again. "How exactly do you propose to destroy me, young Majesty? You've got no army left. I've seen to that."
"He's got me, you bastard." That was Rowles, and he sounded anything but nervous. "And that's all he needs."
Blythe shook his head in wonder. "Son, you may have killed some of my men, but… oh, this whole conversation is ridiculous. Where are you, anyway? I presume Keegan let you out of your cell."
"I'm still in the tunnels, General," said Rowles. "In a big underground warehouse with a large nuclear symbol on the door."
Oh.
Oh fuck.
The general saw my eyes widen in shock. He became cautious, my reaction leading him to believe that maybe this wasn't a bluff. He waved at the soldier standing behind me. "Go," he said curtly, and I heard the man open the door and run down the corridor.
"What do you know about this?" Blythe asked me.
I had to think very carefully about what I said next.
"I know that Rowles is a psychopath who doesn't seem to value his own life at all," I said slowly. "I know that he really, really doesn't like people in uniforms telling him what to do. I know that he's been tortured horribly and that probably hasn't left him in the best frame of mind. Oh, and I know that Jack – that's Your Majesty to you – knows the detonation codes for the nuclear warheads collected by Operation Motherland. The ones in the big underground warehouse with the nuclear symbol on the door."
The radio crackled again. "I can hear your soldiers coming down the tunnel, General," said Rowles. "If anybody tries to enter this warehouse, I'll detonate."
"He will, too," I said. "He has… issues."
Blythe narrowed his eyes, thinking hard. He hit the transmit button. "What do you want, son?"
"I want to kill you," spat Rowles, full of hatred. "With a knife, not a gun. Slowly. I want to cut you up, piece by piece. I want to gouge out your eyes, puncture your eardrums, rip out your tongue, slice off your nose, pull out your nails and teeth and hair, cut off your cock and make you eat it, then very, very slowly push my knife into your brain through your eye socket and stir."
Christ.
"I told you," I said. "Issues."
"I'll settle for blowing you up, though. And your army."
"And your friends, and yourself," said the general.
"If I have to."
"Here's what we want, General." It was Jack again. "We are going to drive to the main gate. You are going to bring Lee and Tariq to us and let us drive away."
"What's to stop the boy blowing us up once you've gone?" asked Blythe. "If he is as suicidal as Keegan says he is."
"Nothing except my word," said Rowles. "All you need to know for certain is that if you don't do as I ask, I'll definitely blow us all to hell."
"It's a good offer, General," I said. "I'm done with fighting. Once I leave here, you'll never see me or any of my friends again. We'll just vanish, and you can get on with doing whatever it is your boss wants done. We won't oppose you, we just want to leave. Probably France, maybe Spain, I dunno. But away. Let us go, you live, everyone's happy."
Through the window behind Blythe I could see a thin line of light appear on the horizon. Dawn was coming.
The door behind me opened and someone began giving a report.
"There is someone in the nuclear warehouse, General," said the soldier I couldn't see. "We've drilled through from the corridor and inserted a mini-cam. The boy is sitting next to one of the warheads, and the cover is off."
"So he could be telling the truth?" asked Blythe.
"Yes, Sir."
"Could a sniper take him out?"
"If we can get someone into the ventilation system we believe we could get sight on the target."
"Do it. I want to be informed the second the shooter's in position. Meanwhile, we play along. Get some men in here to clean these two up."
"Understood, Sir." The soldier stomped away.
The general leant down and picked up Tariq's black shirt, ripping it into strips and using it to gag me. Then he picked up the radio again.
"You don't leave me much choice," he said. "Bring your vehicle to the gates now, we'll have the prisoners."
"We'll be there in a moment," replied Jack, sounding surprised.
A stream of soldiers scurried into the room and I was untied and allowed to stand. I'd lost so much blood from my leg that I momentarily blacked out as I stood up. I was caught and sat back down. A doctor patched my leg up as best he could and helped me into a new pair of trousers. I could hear more frantic activity from where Tariq had been sitting. When I managed to look across all I could see was a wall of soldiers, some kneeling down.
"Just patch them up," growled the general. "No need to do too much. They've only got to make it to the main gate, after that they're not our concern."
Eventually a soldier indicated that they were ready, and they lifted Tariq up on a stretcher. He was pale and unconscious, and his breathing was shallow, but at least he was still alive.
Surrounded by soldiers, their rifles raised, we were marched out of the building and on to the main road that ran to the gate. I was unable to walk properly and had to wrap my arms around the shoulders of two soldiers who helped me. The base looked very different in the early twilight, with soldiers running all over the place; some were streaming down into the tunnels, others were lining up beside trucks ready to ship out.
As we moved towards the main gate I saw the Stryker pull up outside. Its gun turret rotated, pointing straight down the road at us. I smiled at the threat. Nice to have some firepower on our side. Then I heard a deep rumbling sound and a tank rolled into view ahead of us. Its gun turret – so much bigger than the Stryker's – rotated until it was pointing straight at the armoured vehicle, which suddenly seemed kind of puny. The general fell into step beside me and made eye contact, holding my gaze steadily, his deep black eyes, so pitiless and cold.
"I want you to know, son, that I'll be coming for you," he said. "I don't care where you try to hide, here or abroad, I'll find you and your daddy one day. And when I do, I'll fry you both alive, so help me God."
I didn't reply, just kept trying to put one foot in front of the other, gritting my teeth against the pain in my leg and focusing on the means of my escape. I had no idea how this was going to pan out, or what plan Jack and Rowles had concocted. Our original plan – for Tariq and Jack to use a remote detonator to set off the nukes after we'd left – had failed when they couldn't find the remote detonators anywhere. So how was Rowles planning to escape?
We approached the gate and the Stryker's hatch clanged open. Jack's head appeared in the opening and he shouted: "bring them forward."
The general nodded, the gate was opened, and Tariq and I were carried through. This was the most dangerous moment. If they decided to take this opportunity, they could kill us all with ease. It was only their fear of Rowles' that stopped them. If their sniper killed Rowles before we closed the hatch and drove away, we were dead.
The soldiers helped me up and through the hatch, lowering me down so that Jack and Sue could take hold of me and drop me on to one of the benches. Tariq was a dead weight when he was lowered in, but somehow they managed to get him stashed away. When the soldiers had gone, Jack closed the hatch.
"What the hell are you doing?" I yelled. "You were supposed to be miles away b
y now!"
"Not my idea," said Jack as he applied pressure to Tariq's wound and Sue took the wheel. "It was that bloody kid."
"Rowles?"
"He is a scary ass motherfucker, you know that, right?"
I shook my head, confused. "What did he do?"
"Held me to gunpoint, made me tell him about the nukes and the codes, and then threatened to shoot me if I followed him."
"So what's the plan?" I asked. "I mean, does he have a plan?"
"Not that he told me. I've just been doing as he says."
"Great king you are, letting yourself get bullied by an eleven-year-old."
"He had a gun to my head and knife to my balls," he protested. "And his eyes… that kid is not right in the head."
"He was bad enough before the months of torture," I said, shaking my head. "Let me on the radio."
I shimmied along the bench and Sue handed me the radio handset. "He's on setting three," she said. I adjusted the frequency so I could talk without the Yanks overhearing us.
"Rowles, you there?"
"Hey, Sir. You safe?"
"For now, but what about you?"
"Don't worry about me, Sir. Just drive."
"Don't be fucking ridiculous, Rowles. We came here to rescue you, we're hardly going to bugger off now."
"You'd better, Sir, because I plan on detonating as soon as you're clear."
I bit my lip, thinking furiously. How the hell was I going to get him out of this?
"Listen, they've got a sniper coming for you, through the ventilation system. I don't know how long you've got."
I clicked off the radio. "Can you rig up a remote detonator from scratch?" I asked Jack. "Did anyone teach you that while you were here?"
He shook his head.
"Shit." I pressed the transmit button again. "Okay, Rowles, we're going to have to bluff it out. I want you to find some piece of kit there that you can pretend is a remote detonator. If we can convince them you can set off the bomb from a distance, they'll let you walk away."
There was no reply. "Rowles, you there?"
"Yes, Sir. Sorry, I can hear them coming through the ventilation. I don't think I've got much time. I'm not leaving. If we run, they'll just come after us. I know what they do to people, and I'm not letting anyone else suffer like I did. The only way to be safe is to nuke the lot of them, and that's what I'm going to do. So you need to drive away now, Sir. Get to a safe distance."
Operation Motherland ac-6 Page 24
