There was a rumour that a plan was afoot to rescue the British gold reserves from the Bank of England – and Suzi discovered the next morning that it was more than a rumour. Operation Auric was a reality and Dame Ann Fletcher, the deputy Prime Minister, was supervising the show.
Ann Fletcher.
Suzi made her next decision. She must contact Ann and convince her to give Suzi a job. She tried phoning Ann’s office and had no luck, being politely informed by an underling that Dame Ann was out for the day in Bonn, and would return in time for evening Cabinet at 7pm. If it was urgent, Dame Ann should be free after 8pm – or wait until tomorrow.
Suzi made a few more calls, and spent an hour with a contact in MI6. It was an interesting and edifying conversation.
After dinner, Suzi went directly to UKRA, used her status to bluff her way up to Ann’s outer office, and now stood patiently as Eleanor spoke to her boss.
Dame Ann was losing her temper.
‘Eleanor, I don’t care if it's the Queen of bloody England. No interruptions!’
Eleanor was not one to be bullied by her long time employer.
‘I am sending her in, Ann, like it or not!’
***
Eleanor Fisher stood and led Suzi to the inner office door, opened it and channelled Suzi through. She then closed the door and resumed her place behind her desk. ‘Oh, to be a fly on the wall,’ she wished.
Suzi stood erect in the middle of the plush inner office, saying nothing.
Ann Fletcher looked up from her papers in annoyance and was about to explode with anger, when…….
‘Suzi! My God …Suzi! I thought you had been lost at GCHQ. How the hell did you get here?’
Ann rose from her leather chair, dashed round to the front of her desk, and embraced Suzi like a long lost sister. They held each other for what seemed an age and then suddenly kissed passionately, tongues probing deep into each other’s mouths.
***
Ann and Suzi had known each other since childhood, attending the same private boarding school and setting off to Cambridge together and became inseparable, after jointly topping their academic classes.
Both sets of parents were monied, so the girls could afford to live an extremely comfortable – and some would say decadent and self-indulgent existence at university. Many of their acquaintances thought them to be sisters. Their facial features were remarkably similar; tall, fine bone structure, piercing green eyes and full, inviting lips. The only difference was that Ann was blonde, and Suzi brunette. Boyfriends came and went on a regular basis, but their relationship matured and deepened, and only when Ann married Andrew Brady did they temporarily drift apart.
Suzi attended the wedding, but steered clear of the marital home until the split less than a year later. They renewed their relationship briefly until Ann went to Hong Kong, and their paths crossed regularly over the following twenty years. They would meet for holidays and every time Ann was in London, they dined at the Ritz.
Their careers paralleled each other. Ann was more interested in power, whereas Suzi concerned herself with knowledge – and the pursuit of pleasure. However, both had reached positions of influence and here they now stood – reunited.
***
Their lips parted as Ann’s right hand moved down Suzi’s lithe body to her thighs, under her skirt and probed up over the inevitable silk stocking top, and finding no panties, slipped a finger into a compliant and gooey, shaven passage as Suzi whimpered in delight.
After several minutes of gentle manipulation, Suzi shuddered and grasped Ann’s buttock with a force driven by sublime passion.
Ann withdrew her fingers gently and put them to her mouth, licking them clean.
‘I'd forgotten how good that tasted,’ and kissed Suzi one more time.
They parted gently and Ann led them to the sofa at the side of the office.
‘I am so glad and relieved to see you Suzi. I could get no information from GCHQ.’
Suzi gathered her composure and adjusted her clothing before replying, lying back on the sofa, and smiling at Ann.
‘No, I can understand that, Ann. Some bloody jobsworth in this building kept us waiting for two weeks until we made our escape.’
Ann was perplexed, so Suzi related the whole story.
When she’d finished Ann was speechless and open-mouthed.
‘Didn’t you know about the GCHQ bunker, Ann?’ Suzi asked in surprise.
‘No I bloody didn’t – and I don’t think many others did either. I suspect this is the work of Vauxhall Cross,’ referring to SIS. ‘It's probably their way of trying to manipulate the government in the event of a disaster. Didn’t work though, did it?’
Suzi didn’t comment, but lifted the hem of her skirt above her waist, revealing a glistening pussy, the lips of which were parted invitingly.
‘I've been looking forward to this for a long time, darling,’ she purred as she pulled Ann’s willing head between her ivory white thighs.
***
The next morning, after a night of passion in Ann's apartment, bordering on debauchery and fuelled with alcohol and cocaine, the two women settled down to breakfast and a long chat.
‘Let me contact my driver and the office to let them know that I won't be in until midday. I deserve a break anyway,’ said Ann.
She rang Patric and Eleanor to make the arrangements and returned to her coffee within five minutes.
Suzi looked up from her croissant and looked Ann straight in the eye.
‘Now, what the fuck’s going on Ann?
Ann Fletcher looked suitably affronted and surprised.
‘I don’t know what you mean, darling,’ she replied innocently.
Suzi was in no mood for obstruction.
‘Don’t fuck with me, Ann! The gold. The fucking gold! What the hell are you up to?’
Ann Fletcher looked down at her toast and made a judgement call.
‘How do you know about the gold, Suzi?’
‘Ann, it's common knowledge that we are planning to lift the gold reserves from the Bank of England to help pay for this mess.’
Ann was appalled that security had been so lax.
‘Is it now? However, what isn’t common knowledge is what I'm going to tell you now. I need your help Suzi. It's a one-off opportunity for you, me and Chloe to escape from this debacle forever.’
Suzi was intrigued, yet could guess what her lifetime friend might be up to.
‘I'm listening Ann, and you know you can always trust me.’
Ann trusted no one, and never would, but related the story and the real plan nonetheless.
‘So you can see, Suzi, I can't do this alone. I was going to use that arsehole Castle, but he is 100% expendable. There’s risk involved and we will have to take extraordinary measures if we are to get clean away.’
Suzi was not stupid.
‘You mean kill people, Ann?’
‘Yes, Suzi, we are going to have to kill several people!’
Day 39
Wednesday 22nd January
Newquay, Cornwall
Erica and Jock McCartney lived a solitary and quiet life in the idyllic Cornish village of Newquay.
It wasn’t really a village, but more of a bustling tourist town, especially in the summer months. Holidaymakers flocked there by the thousand to surf, fish and sunbathe in the warm Gulf Stream waters coming in off the Atlantic.
The couple had retired here in the late nineties to paint and to enjoy the benign West Country climate. Jock was a talented artist and enjoyed the unique light in Cornwall, which painters were constantly seeking.
They lived on their pensions and a small income gained from local scenes painted by Jock which the tourists seemed to enjoy. Their closest family lived in Manchester, so visits were few and far between, but Christmas was normally spent in Newquay with Erica’s daughter and two grandchildren.
When the snow started on the fifteenth of December, their family was en-route to Newquay by train, and were expected
to arrive late on the Monday evening. Erica’s son-in-law was in contact with her by phone as far as Exeter, but then the signal went down and Erica heard no more from her daughter.
She never saw them again.
Clearly, she and Jock were apprehensive and as the snow deepened, became distraught with concern for the fate of their family. However, there was little that they could do, as the blizzard thundered against their three bed terraced house, and the ability to walk even ten metres was a gargantuan task.
So they watched TV until the power failed, and took the Prime Minister’s advice. They concentrated their supplies into the downstairs kitchen/lounge/diner and battened down the hatches for the siege to come. They had a supply of LPG, which was critical once the power failed, and by frugal use made it last for several weeks. Food was no problem as stocks were high in preparation for Christmas, and they filled the bath with fresh water before the pipes froze.
In short, they endured the storm, huddled together in front of their gas fire, praying that the supply wouldn't run out.
In the event, Erica and Jock survived and on the fifth of January it stopped snowing. They only realised because when they peered through the hatch from the second floor into the loft space, they could see clear blue skies through the gap where the roof had collapsed a week previously.
They toyed with the idea of attempting an escape through the roof, but Jock was too fragile and weak, and could not possibly manage the climb. Consequently, they settled down to wait for rescue. They heard helicopters buzzing around, but by the fifteenth of January, there was no sign of liberation.
Something more drastic had to be done.
Erica decided to attempt a climb up onto the roof, and then signal for help.
It was a fatal decision.
Jock stood at the bottom of the loft steps as a warmly clad Erica climbed up into the attic. There was a large hole in the roof where it had collapsed inwards, and rain was filtering in through the gap. It wasn’t heavy rain, but enough to be a nuisance. That sort of insipid drizzle that wets you right through.
Erica stumbled about in the detritus in the loft, splashing in snowmelt and as she put her foot between two ceiling joists – the plasterboard gave way – and her leg went clean through the ceiling beneath her feet. This caused her to fall forward, and due to a combination of her weight and damp plasterboard, she crashed straight through into the second floor bedroom. Erica screamed violently and became silent.
Jock also shrieked and hobbled as fast as he could into the bedroom, and was horror-struck at the sight which met him.
Erica had landed on the bed in the centre of the room, but her head had struck a sturdy brass bedpost.
She was lying on her side on the bed, eyes open, head bleeding, neck broken and stone dead.
Jock was thunderstruck.
He just didn’t know what to do.
After a few seconds, he gathered his feeble wits and felt for a pulse on his wife’s wrist.
Of course, there was none.
Jock sat on the side of the bed and cradled Erica’s head in his arms for over an hour. Eventually, the cold began to overcome his grief, and he was forced to move. He couldn’t just leave Erica up here, so he dragged her by now, emaciated corpse, out of the bedroom and to the head of the stairs. He had two flights of stairs to gently manoeuvre his wife’s body, and yet barely had the strength to walk down himself.
Nevertheless, he had to try.
He lay her at the top of the stairs, head first, grabbed her hands and began to pull her down the steps, one at a time and as smoothly as he could. It took ages. After over an hour of tugging and resting up to gather his strength, he managed to drag his wife into the ground floor living area. He positioned her in the corner and put a tablecloth over her face.
He then shut the door and turned on the gas fire.
He sat back exhausted in an armchair, fell asleep and awoke fifteen hours later.
Jock was heartbroken and inconsolable.
Erica had been fifteen years his junior and his lifelong friend, confidant and lover. How could he go on without her?
Nevertheless, he had to maintain his strength, so he stood up and walked into the kitchen area to make himself a hot cup of soup.
What he found chilled him to the bone.
There was nothing in the fridge.
There was nothing in the freezer.
There was nothing in any of the kitchen cupboards.
Then he realised why Erica had been so desperate to climb out onto the roof to seek rescue.
They were completely out of food. She had clearly kept the truth from him to prevent fear and anxiety.
He returned to his seat and turned off the gas fire, as the room was quite warm by now.
Jock suddenly realised how hungry he was and fell back into his armchair full of despair.
How the hell was he going to escape now?
***
Jock sat in that room, only going out to fetch foetid drinking water from the bath.
He ate nothing for another week.
Jock’s strength slowly ebbed away. He had water to drink, but the psychological effects of the cold, damp, lack of food and stress were taking their toll.
He was starving and beginning to hallucinate.
He must have something to eat.
He dragged himself up and into the kitchenette and searched one more time for the slightest scrap of food.
There was none.
He must have some food.
The hallucinations began to take over again, and he staggered back to his chair and tried to turn on the gas fire. He couldn’t manage the dexterity required, and gave up after two or three minutes of fumbling.
If he’d but realised, the LPG had now run out.
He was starving.
He must have something to eat.
He looked over at his poor dead wife as the delirium increased.
He was starving.
He must have something to eat.
***
On Wednesday the twenty-second of January, the rescue teams reached Newquay. The occasional survivor was discovered and ferried away to a hospital ship. Many hundreds were discovered frozen to death and now huddled where they died. Many houses were vacant – clearly having had residents who died elsewhere.
However, many houses showed signs of survivor habitation, but containing no bodies. It was a familiar story, and one repeated across the country.
The rescue teams reached Jock and Erica’s small terraced house late in the afternoon and quickly cleared the snow blocking access to the first floor windows.
They broke through and the stench which greeted them was unspeakable. One of the team was forced to exit immediately to throw up, whilst the other put on a scented face mask, which she had prepared for such an eventuality.
The female soldier climbed through the window after breaking the glass and unlocking the catch. She scanned the upper bedroom noting the damp caused by water ingress – probably from the roof. Satisfied that the building was indeed stable, she crossed to the bedroom door and opened it.
The reek of human decay became even worse, and she gagged into her mask. She took about thirty seconds to recover, and quietly made her way down the stairs to the lower level living area and opened the door.
The sight which greeted her was horrific beyond description.
A wizened, unshaven and filthy old man sat at the side of a plainly dead woman, who lay on the floor, her face covered.
In his hand was a bread knife and his mouth, hands and chin and clothing were smeared with blood.
He sat in his own putrid faeces and urine and looked up slowly as the girl entered the room.
Jock held a small slice of Erica’ grotesquely lacerated and blood-soaked thigh in his other hand - and placed it in his mouth.
‘I was starving,’ he muttered feebly.
‘I had to have something to eat.’
Day 40
Thursday 23rd January
Dame Ann Fletcher, her daughter Chloe and Ann’s best friend Dame Susan Macintyre sat in the deputy Prime Ministers office sipping tea. It was 4pm.
Chloe had asked her mother if it was possible for her to shadow Ann’s movements at UKRA and assist as a sort of PA. Ann had been delighted that her daughter was finally coming round to her point of view. Clearly, Chloe had absolutely no security clearances or experience in politics, but nonetheless Ann determined to find her something meaningful to do. She had persuaded her proper PA, Eleanor Fisher that Chloe could be of use, and might shoulder some of the more mundane workload passing through the office. She wasn’t to see anything seriously classified, but to be honest, what secrets was Chloe going to discover anyway?
Consequently, her daughter was following Eleanor around, picking up a flavour for the job her mother did so well. Eleanor didn’t really mind, as she had known Chloe since she was a child and was glad to be in her presence. Chloe was bright and enthusiastic, and very soon Eleanor was able to give her a few more interesting administrative tasks to complete.
Chloe was delighted to be in and around her mother’s work, as it now gave her the opportunity to sniff around for any incriminating evidence – if indeed it existed. And the more she learned about her mother and her work, the more impressed she became. She was beginning to admire the woman – perhaps even like her a bit.
Meanwhile, Ann had appointed Suzi as her ‘personal intelligence advisor’, with broad terms of reference, which allowed her to come and go as she pleased, with no questions asked.
Suzi and Ann had discussed their plans in detail, and it was Suzi’s task to manage some of the logistical issues involved.
So the three were relaxing in Ann’s office when Sir Ian James rang through from New York:
‘I'm back in the saddle Ann. I just needed a few hours’ sleep and a complete break from the chaos and controversy this visit is causing. I've explained the Op Auric plan to the President and he approves. Can you just bring me up to date?’
Snow! The Series [Books 1-4] Page 97
