Table of Contents
PART ONE
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PART TWO
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PART THREE
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24
SEVEN DAY HERO
J.T. Brannan
Copyright © J.T. Brannan 2015
For Justyna, Jakub and Mia
Author’s Note
SEVEN DAY HERO is a re-imagining of STOP AT NOTHING (Mark Cole Book 1), with the main character British instead of American. The two novels – although very different – therefore share some material, and this ‘alternate universe’ version sits outside the normal Mark Cole series
‘Every thinking person fears nuclear war and every
technological nation plans for it. Everyone knows it’s
madness, and every country has an excuse.’
- Carl Sagan
Atlantic Ocean – 38,000 Feet
31 December 2018
As Mark Cole sat in the makeshift cell set up in the rear of the aircraft, staring through bloody eyes at his captors, he felt his mind reeling. It was too much to take in. The agents who sat across from him must be wrong, he decided. They had to be! The alternative – the truth? – was just too terrifying to contemplate.
Unbidden, his mind still in shock, an image of his obituary formed in front of his eyes. It was not entirely a construct of his imagination; an obituary for Major Mark Crosby – as he had been known back then – had indeed appeared in the regimental journal of the Royal Marines, some seven years before. The first time he had died.
He saw it in front of him, as plain as day. He scanned down the page, no longer in the prison but in a world of his own making. He stopped near the bottom of the obituary, reading more carefully the words which floated there in front of him.
‘Major Crosby was the pride of the Corps, and as fine a man as we have had serve with us,’ said the Commandant General, Lieutenant General Sir John Paxton KCB OBE, at the funeral held last week. ‘I have myself been fortunate to experience the man’s bravery first hand, and am aware of many men who owe their lives to him. I therefore hold him up as an eternal example to us all, as something that often seems lacking in our modern world – a true hero.’
Through the pain and the blood, Cole smiled cynically. What a difference seven days could make. What would General Paxton think of me now?, he wondered. As the image of the obituary left his vision and he was once again confronted by the piercing, accusatory glare of the two agents, who sat across the steel table from him, his smile instantly faded. It wasn’t funny; not in the slightest. And as he looked into the men’s eyes, Cole was hit by the realization that the men were sure they were right. And if they were right, what then?
Cole sagged in his seat, despair replacing the confusion. What have I done? he asked himself. What have I done?
PROLOGUE
Stockholm, Sweden
24 December 2018
1
When the first hazy rays of sunlight broke through the clouds shortly before noon on that fateful Christmas Eve, Stockholm was bathed in an otherworldly, ethereal glow. The shafts of light, beaming down like the outstretched fingers of a supernatural deity, highlighted the light snow that continued to fall gently across the myriad islands of which the famed Swedish capital consisted.
Whilst most of the city’s inhabitants were involving themselves in the traditional seasonal celebrations, at home with their families and loved ones, one of the islands was experiencing rather more than its usual public gathering. For Helgeands-Holmen, situated between the medieval district of Gamla stan and the mainland of the city, is the home of the Riksdagshuset, the seat of the Swedish government. And on this particular Christmas Eve, the imposing Parliament House, and the area immediately surrounding it, was a hive of bustling activity.
From the seemingly endless groups of news broadcasters and reporters gathered directly outside the building itself, to the throngs of armed Swedish police who had cordoned off the entire area from the mainland to the Slottskajen road, to the winter-camouflaged snipers watching intently from the snow-covered rooftops, to the patrol boats that trudged slowly through the near-freezing channels of Stockholm’s vast system of waterways, it was abundantly clear to any observer that something important – possibly world-changing – was going to happen today.
And so it was.
The idea had started developing several years prior to the actual event, as is the case with all such monumental initiatives. It had been Adam Gregory, the British Prime Minister, who had first posited the idea, soon after the European Union’s ‘second enlargement’ saw the number of member states increase to thirty several years earlier.
The ensuing years had seen the advent of central financial control, a fledgling European military force, and the beginnings of a true European government. Seeing where things were headed, Gregory had merely pointed out, at a meeting of the European Parliament, that if European inclusion was the primary aim of the union, then one of the biggest factors was missing; namely,
the Russian Federation.
His suggestion was, in the first instance, the target of both scorn and ridicule; later, the matter was simply ignored. But there was a certain logic to the idea that caused people to finally reconsider, and talks had eventually been started in earnest. Gregory’s rationale was simple: if Europe wanted to make itself a superpower to rival the United States, it needed the huge resources of the Russian Federation. With her borders so close to China, another potential superpower rival, it was essential for long-term European security to ensure that Russian loyalties lay to the West, and not to the East.
And so it came to pass. Russia was offered economic and political assistance, and with a system of controls which rewarded good governance and economic policies, Russia was a reformed country only five years later. The nation was on its way to becoming an economic powerhouse, but had already become inextricably tied to the European Union. A further, more concrete, association was now needed, one which would officially tie the continent together.
Although not yet ready for a true political integration, it was decided that a mutual defence treaty was a good positive step; especially as the military was the one area in which Europe still lagged behind America. With the final and unavoidable collapse of NATO in 2016, the gates were left wide open for the proposed Euro Russian Alliance. It had taken almost another two further years to iron out the details of the pact, but by the winter of 2018, the treaty was finally drawn up. And with a vote on the future of the EU scheduled for 2020 that many commentators believed was just going to be a rubber stamp for the creation of a European confederation, the signing of the ERA treaty on the Christmas Eve of 2018 was seen by the world as a mere formality in a move towards the Confederation of the United States of Europe and Russia. A move that was not universally welcome.
2
‘We’re just minutes away now sir,’ announced the driver of the black Bentley limousine that swept along the deserted E4 expressway. The main conduit between Arlanda Flygplats, the main airport thirty miles to the north of Stockholm, and the city centre, the expressway was usually busy, like most roads serving a capital city. Today it had been entirely cleared of traffic however, secured by the Swedish police solely for the safe passage of the numerous heads of state who were due to attend the treaty signing.
Although this particular vehicle contained the British Prime Minister, it was another man who answered the driver.
‘Thank you James,’ came back the smooth voice, ‘but I do know. I’ve had the pleasure of being here before.’ In fact, there was barely a city in the world that had not been visited by Sir Noel Hansard, the Chairman of the Joint Intelligence Committee and the Prime Minister’s closest advisor.
Next to him sat the Prime Minister himself, Adam Gregory, whose head rested to one side as he snoozed gently. In his early forties, he was a youthful leader, and his boyish good looks had contributed greatly to his voter appeal, even if this wasn’t now quite what it once was. He presented a clean-cut, honest image, and had come to power on a somewhat right-of-centre agenda, which was perfectly timed for the demands of the nation’s jaded citizens. His massive investment in the police force and the subsequent drop in the rate of violent crime had alone virtually assured him of his second term in office, which he had achieved in spectacular style. He was a pro-European Conservative, however, and whilst he had never concealed his desire for further integration, it was only in his second term that he really let his enthusiasm shine through.
He had single-mindedly used his huge political leverage to push the country into finally accepting the euro which, although it had secured the nation’s long-term financial future, as well as ensuring Britain could have a say in controlling European fiscal policy, was seen as tantamount to treason by many Britons. Gregory maintained his tough, classic Conservative policies on crime and asylum, as well as decreasing the nation’s tax burden year on year, but his enthusiasm for European integration had damaged his popularity to a huge extent over the last few years.
Gregory was upset by this damage to his reputation, as with his first term in office he had gained the kind of devout political following he had always dreamed of. Now the dream seemed far away, and he could scarcely remember the happy crowds that had once flocked to hear him speak.
But he was an intelligent man and, despite his reservations over the process, he knew Sir Noel Hansard was right. His closest advisor for many years, Hansard’s position gave him oversight of all the intelligence apparatus of the British government. It was also further rumoured – and indeed was true – that his influence could sometimes run much further. Gregory had opened his mind to Hansard’s plans and strategies for much of his political life, and knew his mentor had never put a foot wrong. And so he knew Hansard was right when he assured him that the path they were following, despite an initial dip in his own popularity, would eventually reap rewards he could scarcely imagine.
His back ramrod straight despite the soft plushness of the leather seats, Hansard sat and regarded his nation’s leader with the cool, detached eyes of a scientist. He knew why Gregory was sleeping. The last few months had been fraught with late-night planning, mostly with members of his cabinet but at other times with Hansard alone. And before this particular event, the two men had spent almost thirty solid hours at work. Gregory had fallen asleep at first on the plane on the way here, then again moments ago in the limousine. To succumb to exhaustion was merely human, Hansard reflected, and yet he regarded it as a weakness. After all, he was still awake himself, wasn’t he?
Still, Hansard reflected as the limousine continued along the snow-lined highway, Gregory was the ideal man for what lay ahead. And as Hansard thought about just what that was, the corners of his lips curled up into a rare smile.
3
Although there was a cordon on the waterways immediately surrounding Helgeands-Holmen and Gamla stan, at a radius of six kilometres beyond the Riksdagshuset there was no visible security presence.
The area was, however, being monitored by satellite. A real-time system designed, built and operated by the European Union, it was part of a future global defence system that the EU hoped would one day rival that used by the US. The DamarSat KH-90 was indeed an awesome technological weapon, with the capability to penetrate dense cloud and, even at night, read the time on a lady’s wristwatch.
The forty foot Onassis yacht floated steadily on the waters of the Lilla Värtan, seven kilometres from the Riksdagshuset and thirty kilometres below the DamarSat’s near-earth orbit as it passed over the area as scheduled. But the yacht was just one of a large number of vessels which routinely travelled from island to island. The very nature of the Swedish capital, with its numerous small islands, means that the boat is as common there as is the car in most other cities. From fishing trawlers to pleasure boats, and from passenger ferries to the huge luxury yachts of Stockholm’s rich and famous, the city’s busy waterways were its lifeblood.
And so the satellite’s operators, watching real-time footage from their operations room at the headquarters of the recently-formed European Space Defence Initiative, saw no need to examine the Onassis yacht more closely. Had they decided to utilize its incredible zoom capability to take a closer look at the apparently innocent vessel, however, their suspicions would have been instantly aroused. Onboard the yacht, there was a flurry of activity as the oriental crew heaved two large containers out from below decks, whilst lookouts scanned the surrounding canals and islands with high-power military binoculars.
And had the satellite zoomed in further, its technicians may have then alerted the ESDI’s onsite specialist intelligence analysts, who would in turn have identified the men onboard as being of Han Chinese origin; the major ethnic group on mainland China, these moved with a certain focus that indicated some degree of military training.
And alarm bells would certainly have started sounding had the satellite stayed over the area long enough to pick up images of just what exactly these Chinese peasant-soldiers had started u
nloading out of the crates.
4
‘I’m not paranoid,’ Alexei Severin said defensively, and not for the first time.
In the rear of the car, the President of the Russian Federation, Vasilev Danko, and his experienced foreign minister Pyotr Vorstetin, just laughed.
‘Of course you are, Alexei,’ Danko teased. ‘But that is of course exactly why you do this job, neh?’
Severin just grunted in response, as he scanned the road ahead with a scrutiny that certainly could be regarded as paranoia. As he constantly told people, however, it wasn’t paranoia; it was his job. And his close attention to detail was a professional necessity, utilizing a natural survival instinct which had been further honed and refined on the battlefields of Dagestan, Chechnya and Abkhazia, as well as on his home streets of Moscow.
A former member of the elite Russian Spetsnaz Alpha team, he had been recruited by the FSB for ‘special’ assignments before becoming Danko’s personal bodyguard. It was a job he was proud to have, but along with the pride he also took on the huge weight of responsibility that came with it.
Looking in the rear-view mirror, Severin saw Danko return to chatting animatedly to Vorstetin. They were both excited about the upcoming treaty signing, apparently nonchalant towards the dangers they could face on their way to the Parliament House.
But, Severin reflected, it was easy to be complacent; all thirty leaders of the European Union had already arrived at their destination, the highway on which they were travelling was guarded and secure, and they had well-armed Lynx scout helicopters shadowing their every move.
But the Euro Russian Alliance was not universally welcomed. Severin was aware of strong opposition to the defensive pact from a wide range of non-European nations. America, although congratulatory on the surface, was in actual fact more than a little reluctant to have its thirty-year global dominance threatened. And many other countries remembered Russia with less than rose-tinted spectacles. There was even dissent from within the EU, primarily from ex-Soviet Bloc nations that had regained their independence and now objected to allowing their old ‘mother’ into the European fold, the scars from years of socialist abuse still running deep. But it was China that disturbed Severin the most.
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