by Andy Maslen
The four men nodded. Gabriel felt like praying.
“Take aim!”
The two gunners sighted along the thick barrels of the Brownings, aligning the iron sights on the bowser.
“Put down fire!”
Granger and the other gunner, Benno, squeezed the triggers. The noise of the Brownings, even for the few seconds of each burst, was deafening. Tracer rounds flew across the field, bright even in sunlight. All misses. The earth in front of the bowser spurted up in puffs but neither man put a single round into its rusty side.
“Again,” Gabriel commanded. “Put down fire.”
This time, the men were ready for the weight of the Brownings and their vibration in use. Each squeezed off two short bursts. Gabriel watched as the first few rounds puffed up more earth fountains that accelerated towards the bulbous mass of the bowser. Granger hit it first. The massive incendiary rounds punched straight through the steel walls, exploding in balls of flame that blew the bowser apart like a drinks can with a firework inside.
“Yes!” Granger shouted in triumph. “Fuck you! Come on Benno, let’s do it.”
They each put another forty or fifty rounds into the bowser’s split carcass, reducing it to a shredded wreck on burst rubber tyres, before Gabriel yelled for them to stop firing.
The four men were almost tripping on the adrenaline; their faces gleamed with sweat and Gabriel could smell the testosterone coming off them.
“Impressive shooting,” Gabriel said. “You haven’t forgotten, after all. But shooting at a stationary target on the ground and bringing down a moving helicopter are two very different things.”
“Listen, mate,” Granger said. “Don’t you worry about us. Sir Toby picked us, didn’t he? We can do what it takes. I told you that, didn’t I? I’ll show you. See that bird up there.”
Granger pointed. Above them, a buzzard soared on outspread wings, riding a thermal, looking for carrion. The distance was a couple of hundred feet.
Before Gabriel had a chance to say anything, Granger squatted and pulled down on the firing assembly. The M2’s barrel swung upwards, pointing at the big, graceful bird. Sighting along the length of the big machine gun, Granger muttered something under his breath that Gabriel couldn’t catch then pressed the trigger. You would be hard pressed to say you saw the buzzard get hit. But the Browning roared its deep-throated chatter, tracer rounds curved away towards the big brown raptor and moments later it vanished in a brief cloud of pink and brown. A single speckled wing feather spiralled out of the sky like a sycamore seed. Gabriel stretched out his hand and let it come to rest on his palm.
Granger spoke, over the laughter and clapping of his comrades.
“Like I said. Better start running.”
There didn’t seem to be much point saying anything about the buzzard. After another half-hour of practice on trees, hayricks and other makeshift targets, Gabriel gave his final order to stop firing. The disappointment on the men’s faces was that of small boys told to stop playing and go inside to do chores. They drove in silence up to the manor house and parked in the barn. Granger and his squad must have had orders from Maitland because they disappeared, leaving Gabriel and Franz to check the Brownings, unload the ammunition belts and lock the boxes away in a steel cupboard fastened with a heavy padlock.
Gabriel excused himself and walked up to the house. He needed to know how Maitland intended to limit the flight paths from three to two. He found him, with Lizzie, in the sitting room, hunched over a map like the one Gabriel had spread out on his kitchen table the day before.
Chapter 39
“Ah, Gabriel,” Maitland said. “And how are our soldiers of fortune? Any good?”
“Very good marksmen. Though I’m afraid you’re going to need a new bowser. And you’re a buzzard down.”
“I think we can stand the loss, don’t you, darling?”
Lizzie turned her gaze onto Gabriel and moved closer, touching his arm. She was extremely attractive. For a fascist.
“They hit a buzzard with a Browning? How very clever of them. So a cow in a helicopter should be a piece of piss.”
“Darling, please. You know I hate it when you use such crude expressions.”
“Oh, Pa! Really. You’re staging a coup d’état and you’re worrying about a little bad language.”
“One of the reasons I’m doing what I’m doing, Lizzie, is because this country has lost its way. That would extend, in my humble opinion, to a coarsening of public conversation.”
“Oh, don’t be so pompous, Daddy. Let me tell you, when we take power there’s going to be plenty of effing and blinding, count on it.”
“That’s as may be but not, I hope, from my daughter. Now, Gabriel, was there something you wanted?”
“There was, as a matter of fact. I was mugging up on the Brownings last night. Seeing as you have me commanding two gunnery teams, I thought it would be helpful. Their range and effective angle of fire means we are going to need either a third weapon or some way of bringing the Prime Minister over the two we have. I’m sorry to bring you a problem like this but we don’t have much time.”
“Why don’t you take a seat, Gabriel? Let me explain, seeing as you have been doing your homework. There are three flight plans, you’re right. Two overfly my land, one doesn’t. This last one runs just to the south of Andover. So to ensure the pilot follows one of our preferred paths I have arranged for a little diversion tomorrow morning.”
“A diversion?”
“Yes. Once the PM is close enough a bomb will go off in Andover town centre. Not a big one, but big enough. The pilot will receive the news instantly. If he is following the northern flight path he will divert to the central or southern path, bringing the PM over our positions.”
“What kind of bomb?”
“A truck bomb. You may have a seen a white transit van here on and off over the last day or so. It contains a charming mixture of sugar and fertilizer that will detonate at ten tomorrow morning. We’ve parked it in a long-term car park. There shouldn’t be any casualties but we are engaged in a struggle for England’s soul, and a moderate amount of collateral damage is, regrettably, an unavoidable risk.”
How quickly the man had picked up the politician’s euphemistic phrasing. Gabriel swallowed his rising nausea at the thought of shoppers maimed and killed in Maitland’s quest for some Arcadian vision of a pure, all-native, all-Christian England that had never existed outside his head. Maitland was speaking again. Gabriel realised he had tuned out.
“Gabriel, how does that suit you?”
“Sorry, how does what suit me?”
“Being billeted at Rokeby Manor for the next couple of days. It would be good to have you close at all times now.”
“Oh, fine. I’ll need to go home and collect some clothes and stuff.”
“No need. Lizzie has been shopping, haven’t you darling?”
She looked Gabriel up and down.
“I could tell your size: thirty-eight regular, thirty inch inside leg, right? You’ll find some fatigues like the others in your room. Plus toiletries, underwear, T-shirts. No need to return home just yet.”
“Thanks. And, yes. You have a good eye.”
“Good, then that’s settled,” Maitland said. “Now, Gabriel, if you’ll excuse us, Lizzie and I have some matters to attend to and I have my interview to prepare for.”
“With that magazine woman?”
“Yes, indeed. The wonderfully named Boudicca Johnson. Come and find me later. Help yourself to lunch in the kitchen whenever you like. Miss Johnson and I will be in the library.”
As he sat in the kitchen, munching a ham sandwich and drinking coffee, a shadow flickered across the table and made him look up. He caught a flash of magenta contrasting with dark brown skin. Lauren. She’d parked at the back of the house. He sprinted for the door and managed to catch her before she rounded the corner.
“Lauren, quick,” he hissed.
“Oh, hey, what is it? Maitland’s out fro
nt, so make it quick.”
“They’re going to detonate a truck bomb – a transit – in Andover town centre. A long-term car park. To divert the chopper over the estate.”
“OK. Leave it to me. Got to run.”
With that she turned on her heel and walked fast for the corner of the house and round to meet Maitland at the front door, her stilettos crunching on the gravel. Gabriel was back inside and sitting at the table seconds later, just as Lizzie came in from the hall.
“Hello, soldier,” she said. “I thought you’d be trying on the clothes I bought you.”
“I’m sure they’ll be a perfect fit.”
“Yes, but you can never be too careful. We wouldn’t want you playing war with your trousers falling down, would we?”
“I suppose that would destroy the effect.”
“I can come and help, if you like. Give you a woman’s opinion.”
“I’m not sure your father would approve.”
“Who cares? He runs this family like he runs his little army. He thinks he’s going to be running the country the same way, but I’ll tell you a little secret.”
“What’s that?”
“Oh, not so fast. You have to promise me you won’t tell.”
“OK, I promise I won’t tell.”
“Seal it with a kiss.”
“I’m an employee of your father’s. It’s not appropriate.”
“Appropriate?” She laughed, throwing her head back. “Gabriel, you don’t really believe you’re just an employee, do you? He wants you in the inner circle once he’s made his move. He’s told you about his plans for you hasn’t he?”
“He told me it’s all about public engagement or official communications. He didn't spell out the details.”
“Then allow me to. You’ll be in charge of all information coming out of the Government. Advertising, public education, websites, videos, social media. I think we’d make a perfect team. And who knows, Daddy may find the stress too much and drop down dead of a heart attack. Who’ll run the country with him gone? Me, that’s who. You could be there with me.”
So that was it. She saw herself as next in line for the job. Let Maitland clear her path then wait for him to relinquish power, either voluntarily or, could she be thinking about helping him along? This could work in his favour.
“It sounds interesting. You have the money and the brains, plus the power he’d confer on you. I have the military background – I could bring the generals around to our way of thinking. Plus you know the people would love you – with those looks, you’d be more popular than Princess Diana ever was.”
“You’re such a flirt, Gabriel. So how about that kiss? Come on, just a quick one and I’ll let you in on my little secret.”
She moved closer to him and pulled him closer still by his T-shirt. He kissed her, gently, his mouth closed. Her lips were soft and she pressed back against him, then opened them just a fraction and sucked his lower lip. Then she pulled away, leaving him breathing deeply and wishing she hadn’t.
“So, tell me, what’s so hush-hush?”
She placed her mouth close to his ear, so close he could feel her breath. “I know who you are.”
Chapter 40
“What do you mean?” was all he could manage. He managed to keep his voice light but his heart was thumping and he felt sure she could tell.
“Don’t be coy, Gabriel. I sneaked a look at your profile when Daddy had you vetted.”
“And?”
“Your father and mother. They were part of the last group to try and take power. This is your destiny. You can’t deny it.”
Well, he could, but he wasn’t going to. His heart rate settled down again.
“Then you know how long I’ve waited to be a part of something like this.”
“Yes, I do. And I also know you are not a man to be content taking orders from someone like my father.”
“What do you mean?”
“When the time comes, you’ll know. He thinks he’s going to fill a power vacuum once the PM’s out of the way, but he’s going to be the source of one shortly afterwards. Then I will move, and I think it would be much nicer if you were by my side. Now, I’m going for a drive. I don’t suppose the next few weeks will leave me much time for having fun. Or not behind the wheel of a car, anyway.”
She winked at him and left, pulling the door shut behind her as she headed for the garage. He sat there, stunned, until the growl of the Ferrari brought him out of the trance he’d sunk into. He watched the sleek shape disappear past the window. So the daughter was deadlier than the father. She’d managed to charm six thousand rounds of .50 calibre Browning ammunition out of a Warrant Officer who at best would spend the rest of his life in prison if – when – he was caught. He had no doubt the British public would fall for her just as readily. He went upstairs and checked out the clothes she’d bought him. They fitted fine. Lizzie did indeed have a good eye.
He found himself at a loose end. Despite being mired in a plot to assassinate the Prime Minster and seize control in a coup, there was nothing to do, except “stand by to stand by”. He lay down on the bed and was asleep in seconds.
A loud knocking woke him hours later. He looked at his watch. It was almost six.
“Come in,” he called.
Maitland walked in.
“I need you downstairs. We’re running through the briefing for tomorrow.”
“Who’s we?”
“Everyone. The people you met the other day, plus the men who’ll be putting fire down tomorrow. The ones you trained.”
Maitland turned and left. Gabriel called after him.
“OK, give me a minute.”
He went into the en suite bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. Checked his appearance in the mirror over the sink. Tried on a grim, death-or-glory face. Then went downstairs to join the others.
The dining room table was covered with two copies of the map Gabriel had seen earlier. The air smelled of coffee and nervous sweat. All the conspirators were present. Around the table sat Foster, Cragg, Hollands, Montgomery, Tanner, Compton, Lizzie, Gabriel and Maitland himself. Standing in a line against one of the walls were Franz, Gary Granger and the other members of the two gunnery teams.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Maitland began, standing at the head of the table. “Tomorrow marks a unique day in British history. In a bold move that will reassert our traditional strengths of self-determination and the might of empire, I shall seize power and begin a reconstruction of the United Kingdom.”
Not so unique, Gabriel thought. Ever hear of Oliver Cromwell? You’re not even a decent scholar of history.
“Together, we shall usher in a new era of British pride at home and influence abroad. Not by dishing out money to failed states, opening our arms to endless immigrants, or being soft on criminals, but by reasserting our heritage as a bastion of freedom and a beacon for self-reliance the world over.”
Gabriel glanced around the table. If the others had misgivings about following this lunatic to the brink, their faces didn’t betray it. As he looked at Lizzie she returned his stare, the corners of her mouth curving upwards just a little.
“Gabriel, you will play a pivotal role in tomorrow’s proceedings. You’ll set up one of the firing positions with a gunnery crew. I’ve designated your team Lancelot. Franz will command the other crew: they are designated Merlin. When the bomb goes off in Andover we will, what was your phrase, Giles?”
“Shape the battlefield,” the General said.
“Thank you. Forcing the pilot to choose between one of the other two flight paths. Gabriel, you and Franz will be spotters for your gunners, in radio contact. Whichever one of you has the helicopter will report to the other.”
“And you’re confident those Patriot boys are up to the task, are you Toby?” Foster, the MI5 man, said, nodding towards the black-clad thugs standing to attention under a portrait of Maitland.
“Again, I must defer to Gabriel.”
�
�They were surprisingly good with the Brownings,” Gabriel said. “I’m sure they’ll have no trouble bringing down a helicopter.”
“There we are then,’ Maitland nodded. “Once the PM has been eliminated, the successful team will call it in on the walkie-talkie and Phase Two begins. William?”
Cragg, the Met Commissioner, spoke. No querying his master’s plan this time.
“We’ll take Toby and Lizzie straight to Westminster. The rest of the cabinet will be placed in protective custody. The opposition leader and his team too.”
“And we’ll move on the media,” Foster said. My men are placed inside the BBC and the other leftist outlets, print, web and broadcast. They’ll be shut down to prevent public panic.”
Maitland turned to Compton.
“Giles?”
“Unlike in those Third-World countries, we don’t have forces loyal to the Prime Minister or any of that rot, so I don’t anticipate much in the way of fighting. But we’ll secure Army HQ and issue an SSO to stand down unless an order comes directly from me.”
“I’m sorry, for those of us who have never had the honour to serve, SSO?”
“Oh, sorry. Special Standing Order. There are a set of seven SSOs that can only be issued by a member of the General Staff in times of national emergency. They govern the Army’s conduct, disposition and actions.”
“Thank you, Giles. We live and learn. And Gordon, I believe you have one more pressing task to report on?”
“Once we get the signal, my agents will detain the men and women on this list.” He passed round copies of a two-page stapled document printed on plain A4 paper. “They will be placed in secure holding facilities until such time as we can hand them over to the Americans, the Saudis or the Syrians.”
Gabriel read down the list: the others were doing the same. He recognised some names from the news – radical Muslim preachers, the heads of Islamic organizations, the Director of a civil rights charity. The rest were unknown to him, but most of them appeared to his untutored eye to be Arabic or Muslim names. He looked up.
