Patric, physically supported by Joanie, continued:
‘Where’s the bloody weasel…I can't see him, does anyone know where he’s run to?’
‘I saw him careering out of the front door as soon as all this blew up. He won't last long out there in those clothes. Serves him bloody well right!’ came the vengeful reply.
‘Okay, there's not much we can do about that. He probably thinks we’re going to lynch him, anyway. Someone, please check to see if he’s cowering just outside and, if so, bring him back into the shelter.’
He was - and they did.
Patric’s compassion endeared him yet more to the ‘inmates’. Patric glanced over at Kimble and sneered:
‘We’ll deal with you later, Mr Weasel! Now; the thugs! Are they all conscious? Good.’
Patric delivered an ultimatum:
‘You all have a simple choice to make. Join us and behave like normal human beings – or leave. We’ll give you clothing and supplies to assist you on your way. Decide now or we’ll decide for you!’
One of the thugs spoke up.
‘Patric, some of us were forced to comply with their demands. Four of us have wives and partners locked in an office at the far end of the store. They threatened to cast them out if we didn’t co-operate. Can someone please go and release them – they are in a pitiful state.’
Patric directed a couple of men to verify the story and within five minutes they returned with four sorrowful looking women who forlornly embraced their spouses.
‘Right, you four can stay. What about the other four?’
Someone in the gathering spoke out dogmatically:
‘These four were brutish, Patric, if they stay, I go!’
The crowd murmured its agreement and the four men bowed their heads.
‘Fine! The people have spoken. Out you go – unless you can convince us otherwise.’
‘Fuck you and fuck all of you! You're all just pathetic and weak.’ cursed one of the bully boys, and not one of the remainder contradicted him.
Patrics’ patience had all but run out:
‘Okay, you’ve signed your own release. Out you go – after lunch.’
Finally, he turned to the ‘committee’.
‘Now, what will we do with you despicable shower? You have behaved appallingly over the past three weeks, taking advantage of your own countrymen and treating them with contempt and cruelty. Your behaviour has been nothing short of criminal, and I am now at a loss as what to do next!’
‘What have you got to say for yourselves?’ Patric gave them a chance to save their skins.
The woman was weeping so violently that she was unable to speak in her own defence; so the remaining member who had supported the ‘voice’ to the bitter end had his say:
‘I won't defend what we did, nor will I condemn it. We did what we thought best for the survival of all. Okay, we ruled with a heavy hand – but you need to when dealing with some people. They take advantage, steal food and generally create disorder. We wanted order and we maintained it in the only way we knew how.’
Patric came back at him immediately.
‘How the hell can you even begin to justify your methods? You had superior sleeping quarters, better food and used violence to keep us in check. We had no say at all in your bloody false Utopia! And worst of all, you probably murdered people by firstly, turning them away when they arrived, and then, even worse, casting them back out into the storm if they contravened even the slightest of your ridiculous and Draconian list of rules and regulations. You cannot expect us to have any sympathy with your methods. I give you the same choice. Leave, or stay and face charges of murder!’
‘I’ll go,’ whimpered the man, with little hesitation.
The woman erupted into more violent tears so Patric directed that she be taken upstairs and calmed down.
He then turned to the last two men.
‘I can only assume you had a change of heart at the last minute, and that cold-blooded murder was too much even for your consciences!’
The man who had killed the ‘voice’ in the struggle spoke out.
‘Your summary of the situation is accurate, to a point. This man, lying here, for whose death I am regretfully responsible was indeed a tyrant. Bordering on insane I’d estimate, and his grip on the shop and the people in it became stronger with each passing day. Yes, he was harsh and unfeeling, but in his own warped way thought he was creating a ‘survival of the fittest’ scenario. Misguided and fanciful I agree, but he was a powerful man, both physically and mentally. Someone had to keep an eye on him, curb his megalomania - someone on the inside. That was us. Peter over there, and me. He is my business partner and we came here together. I am also a local Magistrate in Hove and he is a Community Police Officer from Brighton.’
The ‘inmates’ gasped as one.
‘We arrived on the first Wednesday and were accepted immediately. We were then installed on the ‘committee’ and seduced into co-operating with this fellow. He had a squad of henchmen by then – so it was ‘agree’or leave. What choice did we have? None, in my book! So we stayed and tried our best to keep him under surveillance and attempt to limit his megalomania. The woman up there and him,’ - pointing at the third man, ‘were almost as bad. Almost completely out of control.’
Patric and the crowd were now spellbound by these revelations.
‘So, when the uprising happened and he decided to ‘finish’ you as an example, we had to act – and as you can see – we did. We await your verdict and will accept it with good grace. However, we will not accept, or ever admit to, the charges of murder.’
Patric turned to the crowd and asked:
‘Is anyone able or willing to verify his story or speak up for them?’
Several people raised their hands and one spoke.
‘It's true, I know this man and he’s a good, honest chap who's done a great deal for this town. He did get extra food to us on several occasions without the others knowing. He’s telling the truth.’
Others in the group nodded and expressed their firm agreement.
‘Well,’ said Patric benignly,’ the people have spoken yet again and I'm inclined to believe your story. Your actions today support your claim, so I am prepared to allow you both to merge back into the group and help with the survival effort.’
The crowd applauded spontaneously at this point.
Then Patric spoke again, addressing the whole gathering.
‘Firstly, I will make some suggestions for you all to consider. There should be elections for new leaders – today – and the new regime should prepare for rescue. I’m not sure when that will come, but I would advise you to be ready for a long wait. There will also be other visitors and you should be ready for them. Finally, I thank you all, sincerely, for saving me from an impromptu demise and wish you all the very best of luck for the future.’
He paused as he scanned the room, before delivering his bombshell.
‘Joanie and I are leaving.’
Day 24
Tuesday 7th January
RNeth Air Force Volkel
Brady and Ross ate their fill in the Officers’ Dining room, sitting at a secluded table away from the other diners. Ross broke the silence by asking Brady a pointed question - a fishing trip, really - trying to see how much he really knew:
‘Andy, it may not be within my ‘Need to Know’ bracket, but I was wondering about the comment made by the PA to the Ambassador earlier about a ‘Chloe’. What's that all about? Shut me up if it's personal.’
Brady looked up from his steak and frites, stared closely at Ross and made a decision.
‘It's his wife – this Townsend – there’s a chance that she’s with him and we might need to get her out. No secret – I meant to tell you but it slipped my mind.’
Ross nodded his head, noting the response, and carried on with his Indonesian green curry.
‘Fair enough. What time is reveille tomorrow morning?’
‘Well, the transport is at 0600, so I�
�ll give you a knock at 0545. I don’t think that there's much more to discuss tonight. If we are lucky the chopper will deliver us pretty near the target and we won't need to do much navigating. Nevertheless, we should be prepared. I’ve got the 1:50000 scale maps in my room and I’ll do a bit of map study before I crash. I’ve also get the co-ordinates and postcode of the house programmed into the GPS, so we have a back-up.’
Ross concurred silently and finished his meal. They climbed the stairs back up to their rooms and were in bed by 2200. Brady looked at his maps one more time, set his wristwatch alarm for 0500 and dropped straight off to sleep.
*****
At 0600 the next morning, the two men loaded the aircrew bus with their equipment and climbed aboard. The transport carried them out to a Hardened Aircraft Shelter (HAS) on the far side of the airfield. It was a crisp and clear morning with no wind or sign of further snow. ‘Small mercies’, Brady thought.
In the middle of the HAS was an eight-seat helicopter, around which several technicians were buzzing, completing pre-flight engineering checks. Brady and Ross were directed to load their rucksacks onto the two rear seats, where they were secured by the groundcrew. They then drifted over to the crewroom and grabbed a coffee. The pilot was waiting and sipping a hot drink.
‘Morgen,’ he muttered tiredly.
‘Morning,’ they replied. ‘What time is take-off? Also, where can I find if there are any messages for me?’
‘0700 and try the ops desk, over there,’ he murmured.
Brady wheeled around and approached the counter in the corner.
‘Morning,’ he bantered cheerfully, ‘Wing Commander Brady – any messages?’
‘Not that I can see, sir,’ came the tired reply.
Although the PA had said that they were to catch this flight, Annie had been explicit regarding the codeword for release. Brady was now in a bit of a quandary and was uncertain as to how to proceed.
By now it was 0640 and time was running out. Ross stood nonchalantly chatting to the pilot – apparently not a care in the world. ‘Nerves of bloody steel, these SAS blokes’, he thought.
Just then there was a tap on his shoulder. He spun round and facing him, dressed for an Arctic blizzard, were Annie, her PA and a third unknown woman carrying two very large briefcases.
‘Good morning, Wing Commander. I trust you are ready to go?’
Brady was stunned for a nanosecond, but then realised what was happening. He was travelling on Annie’s flight. It was a masterstroke. There would be no need for a separate trip to explain the subterfuge – it killed two birds with one perfect stone. No wonder this woman had risen so far in so short a time.
The Ambassador turned to Brady’s companion.
‘Good morning Sergeant Ross, I trust you are ready for this mission.’
‘I’ve been fully briefed, ma’am. You can rely on me.’
Ann Fletcher smiled thinly and addressed the pilot.
‘Captain,’ she called coolly across the crewroom, ‘shall we go?
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he replied, and led them to the waiting helicopter.
At 0700 precisely, they took off for Sandringham and parts south.
Brady was going home.
Day 24
Tuesday 7th January
British Embassy – Bangkok, Thailand
The Embassy was under siege, and had been for nearly three weeks.
There were sixty thousand, or maybe more, British nationals visiting Thailand for the Christmas period and the vast majority travelled through Bangkok en route to the Thai islands. Of course, there were many thousands more living and working in the country, and they presented additional and different problems.
In the normal course of events the embassy staff dealt with lost passports, minor criminal activity, the odd destitute back-packer and injuries to tourists.
The snow back home had now caused mayhem.
There had been NO flights to or from the UK since 17 December.
Consequently, more than sixty thousand holidaymakers who had planned to return to the UK in the first week of the year were now stranded. Some tourists had continued their journeys further east, but they were merely putting off the inevitable. When it was their time to return home – they too would find themselves high and dry.
When the banking computers failed around the eighteenth of December, tourists relying on ATMs for cash ran out of money PDQ. Those with Travellers Cheques lasted a bit longer but it wasn’t long before hotels were evicting guests when bills were not paid.
The Ambassador and his staff had no-one in London to refer to, so in essence, they were on their own, and were soon overwhelmed. Every British embassy globally faced the same problems.
Accommodation and food were the two life sustaining essentials, so the embassy staff spent all of their time ringing up and persuading hotels, boarding houses and holiday resorts NOT to eject British passport holders for lack of funds. The British government would recompense all institutions and businesses in full when the crisis was resolved. Slowly but surely, the situation calmed, and the state of affairs reduced from ‘abject panic’ to merely ‘serious disquiet.’
Many of the tourists wanted desperately to get home or to obtain news of loved ones who had been out of contact for weeks – and were only slowly realising that this may never, ever, be possible.
Some were flown back to Germany on their scheduled departures only to be housed in the temporary villages being set up by the Americans. Others just camped out in their holiday hotels.
The major relief came after travel agents around the globe agreed to cancel foreign travel totally. On Christmas Day, all air travel to major holiday destinations – worldwide – was cancelled. The embargo was to protect British tourists and business people occupying accommodation booked by incoming third parties from other countries. Once this inflow lessened, then the pressure would be eased.
Of course, this put an enormous amount of stress on travel agents and insurance companies – as refunds were demanded and compensation sought! In turn, governments around the world were hounded for reimbursement from the business community. All of this did little to lessen a curious sense of resentment building against Britain.
It was about this time that a worldwide address was made by the Secretary General of the United Nations from New York. He attempted to explain, with the help of all major national heads of state, that the world was facing an unprecedented state of emergency and that it not only affected Great Britain and British citizens, but every single inhabitant of earth.
In one way or another, not one single human being would be untouched by this calamity.
Day 24
Tuesday 7th January
Sandringham House – Norfolk
The helicopter carrying the Ambassador, her two assistants plus Brady and Ross touched down outside the Royal residence at just before 7am British time. Ann Fletcher turned and smiled at Brady and mouthed, ‘Good Luck,’ nodded at Ross and then quickly disembarked. She was met by several RPOs who helped with the briefcases and they disappeared into the house.
It was still dark as the chopper took off again and wheeled onto a South-Westerly heading towards London. Brady asked if the pilot had the co-ordinates of his target house, and was directed to the navigation system readout in the centre of the flight console.
‘Ja, I have your target programmed, but we might not be able to go all the way – gunfire was reported by a helicopter crew yesterday, when they overflew a group of men and failed to pick them up. Shots were fired at the crew, so they marked the position and got out of there.’
‘Exactly where was that?’ asked Ross.
The pilot passed back his map and Brady picked out the area which was circled and shaded in bright yellow marker pen. It was an area near Dartford and the QEII Bridge over the River Thames. He showed it to Ross who mentally logged the information and then marked his own map.
‘Hopefully, that won't affect us too much,’ observed Brady, ‘but m
y worries about having to confront armed survivors have just multiplied ten-fold!
The chopper continued its flight towards London over the East Anglian countryside as the sunlight slowly filtered over the horizon, whilst Brady and Ross looked down onto the snow covered landscape in which they would very soon find themselves.
Both men shivered involuntarily.
******
Her Excellency Dame Ann Fletcher MVO presented herself formally to the new Prime Minister, Sir Ian James, after which they embraced warmly. Many years before, when Ann was a junior staffer in the Berlin Embassy, Sir Ian was a military attaché and they became very ‘close’ for a while. It all came to nothing in the end; Sir Ian moved away and they continued their separate careers. However, they had kept in touch and every now and then their paths crossed – generally in London – and they would share a private dinner to exchange gossip. Importantly, he was a godfather to Chloe, and Ann hoped and prayed that this would sway his decision to authorise Brady’s mission or at least not to forbid it.
‘It's great to see you Ann. I only wish the circumstances were different - we've certainly got our work cut out. Anyway, more of that later. Have a coffee and tell me how you are.’
They sat on the Chesterfield sofa across from his desk and made small talk for several minutes whilst Ann drank coffee and picked at some toast brought in by the PPS.
‘Have you met Phillip Singh – he was the PPS to …. er, well you know. Anyway, he’s mine now and a very resourceful fellow he is too.’
Ann rose from her seat and shook hands with Singh.
‘I’m pleased to meet you Phillip, my two aides are around somewhere with all of the documentation we brought over on the helicopter.’
‘Yes, ma’am, I’ve met your PA – Eleanor - before, and if you’ll excuse me, I’ll re-join them and help with the preparation for your brief to the Prime Minister. Shall we say at 8am, sir?’ he asked, turning towards Sir Ian.
‘Very good, Phillip, we’ll join you and the others in the conference room at eight. Thank you.’
Singh left the room and Ann continued.
‘Before we continue, I need to discuss something with you of great personal interest to both of us. I know I shouldn’t be asking this of you at such a time, but if I don’t resolve the issue, my mind will be elsewhere and I will be of little use to you.’
Snow! The Series [Books 1-4] Page 54
