Last Light

by Alex Scarrow

  Carter shrugged, ‘Pretty crappy deal, isn’t it?’

  ‘Shit! That isn’t fucking good enough, mate. I can’t afford to just give up like this. I’ve got to get home.’

  ‘We all want to go home, mate.’

  Andy spat grime out of his mouth on to the ground, and then looked up at the walls for a moment. ‘So where will they send this Chinook if we want it?’

  ‘Anywhere outside the town.’

  ‘How about back over the Tigris, the way we came in this morning?’

  Lieutenant Carter nodded wearily.

  ‘How much longer are they holding their position around K2?’

  ‘I don’t know. As long as it takes to complete the battalion’s evac.’

  ‘Tonight?’

  Lieutenant Carter nodded. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘We’d stand half a chance at night at least, wouldn’t we? I mean,’ Andy picked up Carter’s SA80, ‘these have got those night-vision things, right?’

  Carter looked at him and nodded. For the first time today Andy saw the faintest flicker of a smile spread across the young man’s mouth.

  ‘Yeah . . . and theirs haven’t.’

  CHAPTER 28

  12.57 p.m. GMT Hammersmith, London

  ‘Oh no we’re going shopping? Why?’ Jacob whined.

  Leona led the way into the supermarket, pushing a trolley and dragging her brother along by the hand. Daniel obediently followed, trying to control two more trolleys simultaneously.

  ‘Because we are, all right?’ she snipped tersely. ‘Mum and Dad want me to stock up our cupboards.’ Jacob sagged.

  ‘So we’re doing a Big Shop?’

  ‘Yes, Jake, we’re doing a Big Shop. Now just shut up a moment and let me think.’

  She looked around. It was busy with the sort of customers she’d expect to see midweek at lunchtime - people popping in for a sandwich, a snackpot, a pasty, and perhaps something convenient and microwave-able for this evening.

  ‘So where do you want to start?’ asked Daniel.

  Leona pursed her lips as she decided.

  She remembered a few years back when Dad had been momentarily distracted from his Peak Oil ramblings by the threat of bird flu. After the first case of human-contracted disease, he, like everyone else in the country, had hit the panic button and flocked to the supermarket to stock up on essentials.

  He had returned home a few hours later with a car full of tinned pilchards in tomato sauce and, it seemed like, a hundred bottles of still water.

  Tinned goods because they’ll last longer. Pilchards because that’s a very high protein meal.

  That was how he explained only buying just the one type of food. Of course it made sense, very practical. But when a month or so later, bird flu turned out like SARS to be yet another mediahyped non-event, they’d been stuck with their own little tin-can mountain of pilchards in ketchup to work their way through. After a couple of months of stepping round the damned tins of fish, and trying to conjure up some inventive family meals that could use a couple of tins, Mum finally had enough and donated the lot to a nearby hospice.

  But that was then, a long time ago now. And now here she was, in the exact same situation as Dad had been, having to decide what to buy, and how much of it.

  Daniel started up the first aisle: Fruit and Veg.

  ‘Potatoes are good,’ he said picking one up and inspecting it. ‘I’m sure you could keep a small family going on one of these for weeks.’

  Leona sighed, plucked it out of his hand and tossed it back onto the shelf. ‘Dan . . . are you making fun of me?’

  Daniel instinctively shook his head, but a moment later the slightest smile leaked on to his face.

  ‘I’m sorry . . . this just seems, I dunno. It’s just getting a little intense. So far this has turned out to be a really . . . funny day.’

  ‘Funny?’

  ‘Wrong word, sorry. I guess I’m—’

  ‘Shit Dan, I can’t do this with you taking the piss out of me. I can’t do this on my own. I know this time Dad’s right; that we’re in for a whole load of trouble. But I can’t do this on my own.’

  Jacob cocked his head. ‘Who’s in trouble?’

  They both ignored him, staring at each other intently.

  ‘I apologise for dragging you along, Dan. I really do. But I’m glad you’re here with me. And if this goes the way Dad says it will then I think you’ll be glad you came with me.’

  He had no family to go home to, to worry about. He had a biological mother out there somewhere in Sheffield that he’d looked up once and who’d made it clear he wasn’t that welcome. She had an all-new family, with all-new kids and a husband who was keeping her how she wanted to be kept. They had met just the once, and never would again, he had stoically assured her.

  Daniel nodded silently. ‘I . . . look, I’m sorry Lee, I guess that whole abduction scene at your brother’s school has got me a bit, like, freaked. I sort of laugh and take the piss a bit, when I get nervous. It’s just me being a dick, okay?’

  She stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. ‘You’re no dick. And you were great back there. Thank you.’

  Jacob curled his lips in disgust. ‘Oh gross! That’s puke-making. ’

  Leona rolled her eyes and let Daniel go. ‘Come on,’ she said patting his arm, ‘work to do.’

  ‘So where do we want to go?’ he asked.

  ‘Tinned stuff. I know just what to get.’

  She led the way past aisles of chocolate treats and salty snacks, with Dan following, pushing one trolley, and Jake doing his best to steer the third one.

  ‘What about stuff like rice and pasta?’ called out Dan. ‘That stuff keeps well doesn’t it?’

  Leona looked back at him. ‘And how do you cook it when the power finally runs out?’ she replied. ‘We may only have a few more days of it.’

  A woman passing by them with a trolley full of frozen pizzas and a variety of TV dinners overheard that and glanced curiously at them - she’d obviously heard her.

  Leona smiled awkwardly back.

  As they entered the tinned goods aisle, Leona was aware that it was noticeably busier than the other areas in the supermarket they had walked through; half-a-dozen shoppers, like herself, warily eyeing each other up, whilst filling their trolleys with canned goods. As she, Dan and Jacob wheeled their trolleys down towards them, there was a moment of shared communication, eyes meeting, and barely perceptible nods of acknowledgement.

  My God, they’re here for the same reason.

  Somehow, the thought that there were other people out there who had begun to see beyond the news soundbites to something more disturbing, made the bizarre situation she was in right now feel that much more real.

  They had that same look as Dad; a slightly rumpled, dishevelled appearance, unburdened with any fashion sense; a couple of them vaguely reminded her of lecturers she’d had back at UEA. They were unmistakably from the same . . . tribe as Dad; nerdish, the type that subscribed to obscure academic periodicals, took rock hammers on their holidays, the type who would never, in a month of Sundays, know who was still hanging in there on Celebrity Big Brother.

  ‘So what are we getting?’ Daniel asked quietly. She could tell he sensed it too, that they were amongst that tiny minority of those who know. Leona could see that these few people alone had already cleared the shelves of several ranges of product in this aisle.

  My God. There’s only six of them at it, and already the shelves in this aisle are beginning to empty.

  She shuddered at the thought of what it was going to be like in this supermarket, and every other one around the country, when the penny finally dropped for everyone else.

  ‘I know what we need,’ she muttered in response, scanning the stock that was left in the aisle for tins of pilchards.

  She looked at her watch. It was nearly half past one. She knew the Prime Minister was due to make some sort of big announcement around about now. Obviously it was to do with the strife her Dad was
caught up in abroad - God, she hoped he was all right - and the impact it was going to have over here. She just hoped they were all done here in the supermarket before the hordes inevitably descended.

  ‘Let’s get a move on,’ she said out of the side of her mouth.

  CHAPTER 29

  1.30 p.m. GMT Whitehall, London

  Jesus, you better make this good.

  Charles walked briskly into the press room, accompanied by the Deputy Prime Minister, and Malcolm. The room was full, as it often was, but today there were so many people crammed into it that they were standing along the back wall and on either side of the rows of seats arranged in front of the small podium. It was stuffy and hot. The air conditioning in the room was struggling with both the increasing warmth of the day and such a high body count.

  The small, well-lit auditorium flickered with camera flashlights going off as Malcolm and the Deputy took seats to one side of the podium and Charles stepped on to it. He felt uncomfortably like a condemned man climbing a scaffold. He placed the small deck of index cards on the stand before him, each one with a simple bullet-point he wanted to get across.

  A deep breath. A moment to shoo away the butterflies.

  Make this good, Charlie.

  He also remembered Malcolm’s last words of advice, muttered quietly and accompanied by a friendly pat on his back.

  Keep the focus away from oil.

  ‘Okay,’ he began. ‘Good afternoon, and thanks for attending at such short notice. There’s a lot to get through, so I’ll just get started,’ he said, and then cleared his throat before continuing. ‘I’m sure you’re all aware that we’ve got some problems to deal with. I’m going to start off by telling you what we know about the situation in Saudi Arabia, and the various other hot spots. Yesterday morning, during morning prayers in Riyadh, the first of many bombs exploded in the Holy Mosques of Mecca and Medina, and in several more mosques in Riyadh. A radical Shi’ite group, shortly after, sent a message to Al Jazeera that they were responsible for the devices. This inevitably triggered a response among the Sunni majority in Saudi Arabia. At the same time, or very shortly afterwards, similar explosions occurred in several other cities in Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, Oman and Iraq. Each one of these incidents has added to the problem. Throughout yesterday, a state of, well - not to put too fine a point on it - civil war has erupted across most of the Arabian peninsula. The situation has continued to escalate today, and because of the potential danger this poses to our remaining troops in Iraq, after consultation with Arab leaders, a decision was taken last night to pull them out of the region until this particular problem has corrected itself.’

  Good start.

  ‘Because of the highly charged nature of this sectarian problem, there are security implications for virtually every country in the world. We are aware that, over here, emotions will be running high amongst various communities. And that there will be a tiny minority amongst them who will feel compelled to bring this civil war to our streets. For this reason, and lessons have been learned as a result of the appalling number of people who lost their lives on the seventh of July 2005, I have decided to act swiftly and concisely on this matter. Because the threat level has risen, all air and rail traffic has been temporarily suspended. Other potentially vulnerable terror targets around the country, such as our nuclear power stations and natural gas storage facilities, are now being guarded by members of the armed forces. And finally, because of the instability and uncertainty this situation is causing amongst the markets, I have also decided to close the stock exchange for today. Now, these are all temporary measures which will be reviewed throughout the rest of today. These are short-term measures . . . let me stress that . . . short-term . . . measures to ensure that we aren’t caught out.

  ‘It’s my firm belief that the dreadful situation in the Middle East will blow itself out in a matter of days, that common sense will prevail amongst these troubled people. I ask that you,’ Charles gestured towards the gathered members of the press and the media, ‘help me by not sensationalising current events.’

  He aimed a reproachful gaze towards a row of seats in the middle, reserved for journalists from the various popular red-tops.

  ‘One thing I really don’t want to see are racial and religious differences being stirred up with inflammatory headlines. We’re a responsible, liberal, tolerant nation, which is why we will not see the sort of things we’ve seen on the news in the last twenty-four hours occurring on the streets of Bradford or London or Birmingham.’

  He paused for effect.

  ‘Okay, I’ll take one or two questions, no more.’

  The press room was instantly a chaotic stew of noise and movement, as hands and voices were raised across the auditorium.

  Charles looked for, and found, the face of News Stand’s correspondent, Desmond Hamlin. Desmond was one of the good guys. Malcolm and Desmond had some sort of history together. Malcolm had made sure the journalist had got a seat near the front, where his voice would be easily picked up by the boom and podium mics.

  ‘Yes?’

  Come on Desmond, give me one I can put in the back of the net.

  ‘Desmond Hamlin, political correspondent for News Stand.’

  Charles nodded and smiled.

  ‘Prime Minister, the withdrawal of the remaining brigades in Iraq - our rapid reaction force - will, I’m sure, be applauded by our readers. We want those boys back home, and it’s good to see you’ve acted quickly there. My question is about the troops we have stationed out in Afghanistan. We’ve heard they’re being mobilised to come home as well. Can you comment on this?’

  Charles nodded. ‘Yes, of course.’

  This was one he needed to handle deftly. Yes, the 20,000 troops they had committed to that country were coming home as fast as they could be shuttled out. It was the why he was going to have to be careful about. On the surface, an unreasonable risk to our armed forces came across as a weak but well-intentioned motive. In truth, Charles had been briefed that they were facing the very real prospect of several months of instability at home. Malcolm’s comment that the riots in Paris not so long ago were going to be what they could be looking at, or worse, had had a sobering effect on the Prime Minister. They were going to need the manpower to enforce some sort of martial law.

  ‘What’s happening in Saudi Arabia, Iraq and the other states in the region, has already started to spread to Afghanistan. Military assessment on the ground is that it could . . .’ a deep breath, inject some heartfelt remorse, ‘. . . regrettably, become as bad there. Make no mistake ladies and gentlemen. The bombs that went off yesterday, damaging the Holy Mosque in Mecca, killing over three hundred and fifty Muslim pilgrims, have stirred some very powerful emotions throughout the Islamic world. The anguish, the rage is, I think, very difficult for us in the west to truly quantify. It would be prudent to pull our boys out for now, until this situation calms down, which is why I’m asking for you all to be measured in how you report this.’

  Charles was happy with that. He had put the issue of a global religious schism right in front of these people, centre stage, and carefully shunted to one side the question of whether all our armed forces really needed to be brought back home quite so quickly. It was a good opening question.

  Well placed, Malcolm.

  The other good guy Malcolm had told him to pick out was also close to the front and centre, the correspondent for News 24. He couldn’t remember her name, but the face was familiar. As he nodded towards her he wondered what question Malcolm had primed her with. It was Malcolm’s suggestion that he keep the exact wording from him, otherwise the answer he came back with might sound too rehearsed. It didn’t matter. Malcolm was good at playing this game.

  Charles trusted him.

  ‘Janet Corby, News 24,’ she announced loudly and clearly. ‘The unfolding riots in Saudi Arabia and Iraq seem to have eclipsed several other events in the last thirty-six hours, Prime Minister. I’m referring, of course, to the tanker that was damaged
in the Straits of Hormuz. I believe the ship shed most of its full load, it’s still burning and will do for some time. There are rumours that the ship was damaged by a mine placed in the middle of the shipping lane.’

  Charles felt his cheeks flush ever so slightly.

  ‘Effectively that closes down the world’s busiest shipping choke point,’ said Janet Corby. ‘Then there was the explosion at the refinery in Venezuela, the Paraguaná refinery. And several other pipeline explosions in and around the refineries based in Baku, Kazakhstan . . .’

  Oh Christ, I can see where this is going.

  ‘All these things within a few hours of each other—’

  ‘Yes, we’re aware of these other isolated events, and the details are hazy on what’s happened there,’ Charles cut in, ‘but I think the unrest spreading across the Middle East deserves our focus right now. This is where we—’

  Ms Corby wasn’t going to let it rest. ‘Prime Minister, these isolated events, as well as the spreading unrest, are all going to be part of the same overriding issue for us here.’

  Shit shit shit, she’s pulling this where we don’t want to go.

  ‘The overriding issue right now, is ensuring that the fear and anger and rage that is ripping the Middle East apart doesn’t spread to the Muslim community in our country. There are over two million—’

  ‘Prime Minister, the big issue has nothing to do with religion, or what British Muslims will or won’t do . . .’

  Cut her off and move along.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’ll have to give someone else a go,’ he said, smiling apologetically at her. He turned from her to survey the other journalists, most with their hands raised, and made a big gesture of deciding who to point to next. He settled on a familiar face, Louis Sergeant, political correspondent for News Review, BBC2.

  ‘Louis?’ he said.

  ‘Thank you, Prime Minister. I’d like to echo the line of questioning my colleague from News 24 was pursuing.’

  Oh fuck.

  ‘These events don’t actually feel like isolated incidents. In fact, it feels like a concerted attempt at disrupting the global oil supply chain. My question is what is our exposure here?’