'Stand-To' (Armageddon's Song)

by Andy Farman

  North London: 2130hrs: Same day

  Constantine and Svetlana had not returned to either of their homes. After Constantine had passed the Geiger counter over the case, he had returned to the empty warehouse rented by a front company for less than legal business the London embassy should be called on to provide. All he had told her was that they had to clear out quickly. With Jubi unconscious on the back seat under a blanket he had cleared their tail of any surveillance after sweeping the car, once again, for any tracking devices. Eventually he had parked up at a 24hr fast food restaurant and sat brooding silently. Svetlana had left him alone with his thoughts for half an hour.

  “The reason I did not stay at The Aviary had nothing to do with frigidity or inhibitions. I am not of the first and I have few of the second.” She said levelly. “It was realised that I was too smart to be a mere mattress for potentially indiscreet foreign businessmen and the like”. She paused to check he was actually paying attention. He was, so she continued.

  “I may be a bimbo to some, but I hope you can actually see beyond the packaging sir?” Constantine thought about it for a moment, he then told her everything that he had discovered. She listened quietly and allowed him to finish uninterrupted.

  “I think the path to take is obvious, or are you actually considering restoring the case to the Irish” had been her reply “We are not at war with this country!” she’d continued. “What exactly could our country hope to achieve from a bomb in London, always assuming that it is our leadership ordering it and not a lunatic faction?”

  Constantine shook his head.

  “I heard from someone, I am not sure who, that Peridenko was once in charge of the KGB section that would use small atomic devices covertly delivered to targets in NATO. I never heard him described as a lunatic though”.

  “I had a look at the case, it doesn’t look like an improvised nuclear device, not that I have ever seen one, though.” Svetlana was thinking aloud as much as she was talking it over with him. “I would guess that if the security forces here got hold of it, they could trace its origin, yes?”

  Constantine nodded in agreement, not speaking, not wanting to interfere in her train of thought.

  “So, why run the risk, would they blame it on deserters selling them to terrorists for cash?” Constantine shook his head, as he answered

  “No, the international fallout would be huge, massive sanctions imposed until we got them back under control. UN troops stationed in the Motherland even. No, they would not risk that so it doesn’t make sense?”

  Svetlana let out a breath as realisation hit her.

  “Yes it does, if they had nothing to lose, if this was just the start of something. If this was not the only bomb!”

  “You realise of course that I cannot be a party to this, this proposed genocide…if that is what we are talking about?” He told her.

  She smiled softly.

  “I knew that, I just hoped you realised it too”.

  Information Room, New Scotland Yard: 2352hrs same day

  Even had this not been the worst day in the history of London’s Metropolitan Police Service, calls flowed in at an average 13000 per day.

  The majority are classed as ‘I’, for immediate action or ‘S’, as soon as possible, by way of priority. Two operators sat at the long bank of communications terminals received almost simultaneous 999 emergency calls from opposite sides of London, the substance of the calls necessitating their classifications as ‘I’ graded. A man claiming to have been shot at by a stoned black youth in Hampstead and an obviously pre-recorded message of a bomb near a synagogue, the voice on the second was electronically produced and claimed membership of Al-Qaeda.

  Four minutes later a Constable found an aluminium suitcase against the rear wall of a synagogue in south London. A strong smell of almonds hung in the air around the case; courtesy of a brief stop at a late night grocery shops baking section just to ensure the case was treated with respect, the now empty bottle of concentrate Almond essence itself had been dropped down a nearby drain.

  In Hampstead an unmarked car drove past an alleyway, saw an apparently unconscious black youth laying on the ground, high on crack. A handgun and spent cases were in view. Armed officers closed in and trussed his arms behind his back with nylon cuffs as a precaution. A bus pass identified the owner of the recently discharged firearm, a pocketful of ammunition, sixty-nine rocks of crack and £1285 cash as one Jubi Asejoke, whom police already wanted on warrant. The fact that he was found next to the home of the police officer who had last arrested him, with the officers name and home address written on a scrap of paper in one pocket would ensure Jubi would learn the hard way about the dangers of dropping the soap over the next ten years.

  In Croydon, an extremely a somewhat alarmed bomb disposal officer would pack away his portable x-ray machine and order the evacuation of all homes and businesses within one mile. His next act would be to call out a team from the nuclear weapons facility at Aldermaston.

  A third phone call, this time on the confidential ‘Crime Stoppers’ number gave the names of several men and a woman, an address in Essex and another in St Johns Wood. This call was passed to SO15 Counter Terrorist Command in addition to a police incident room, set up at Shooters Hill police station to investigate the murder of the officers earlier. Two hours’ later the Sir Richard Tennant, Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, London’s top policeman, got off the phone’ with the Home Secretary. He next put through a call to the former RAF Credenhill which now housed 22 Special Air Service Regiment. The Home Secretary would be calling the Chief Constable of Essex instructing him to extend full co-operation.

  The prime minister was stirred from sleep and informed that a possible nuclear device had been found in south London. All over the capital and surrounding counties, off duty police officers were being telephoned and ordered to their stations and departments. Geiger counters were brought out of special stores and an extensive street search plan formulated.

  Leaving the DAC for counter terrorist matters to handle the Essex business the commissioner attended the major incident centre, which was slowly filling with staff called from their beds. It was going to be a long night for the Met.

  Premier’s office, Beijing, China: 0745hrs 24th March

  Over the previous two days Anatolly Peridenko and Serge Alontov had briefed the Chinese Premier, Defence Minister Pong and Marshall Lo Chang of which terrorist groups would be delivering the devices. Premier Chiu was a man who had attained his office more through low cunning than by higher education. He had thought that the detonation of the devices would have been simultaneously at rush hour worldwide until reminded that the daily event varied considerably by hours’. A cynical Serge wondered if the man held the flat earth theory as being fact and all else as being foreign devil propaganda. At 0900hrs on the day, a delivery van would be hijacked enroute to the White House by Muslim extremists who had been briefed that the device would produce a similar effect as 300lbs of Semtex. The young fanatic driving the van would trigger the explosion as soon as he was compromised, but if he was prevented from doing so the internal timer would initiate the explosion at the same time as the remaining devices worldwide, 0900hrs Washington time, whether in position or not. This included the device being delivered to the Pentagon by the same group. This of course meant that NATO Headquarters in Brussels would be destroyed at 1500hrs, local time whilst all its offices were full but the Australian Parliament in Canberra would probably be virtually empty at 7pm their time. The odds that the worlds security forces could impose curfews once a pattern emerged was unlikely.

  In countries of the former Soviet Union, those who yearned for the return to the old ways were ready to seize power and set their armed forces to join the armies of the Russian Federation as they rolled west. The combined forces would be a fraction of their old size yet more than a match for a headless NATO.

  Marshal Lo Chang was stripping the fleet ships of some of their best seamen, not all, not eno
ugh to weaken their crews in order to man the carrier, Mao.

  The armed forces of the People’s Republic of China were always at a higher state of readiness in peacetime than existed in the majority of countries elsewhere. It would be a relatively speedy business to bring them up to war readiness.

  Despite western intelligence to the contrary, China had sufficient amphibious capability to move two infantry brigades and minimal light armour and artillery support in conventional amphibious assault craft. The numerous small roll-on roll-off ferries that served the coastal communities along her lengthy coastline would land heavy reinforcements. The first modern day amphibious invasion by China would be, predictably, Taiwan with landings simultaneously on both sides of the Cho-Shui river estuary that bisected the narrow strip of land between the coast and the mountains that dominated the island. The Chinese plan for Day 1 also called for mass airborne landings, not only on Taiwan but also to seize the Island State of Singapore. Privately, Serge suspected that could well become China’s Bien Dien Phu or the Arnhem of the East, at the least it could rob China of elite troops who would be sorely needed in the invasions of Japan, Australia and the Philippines later in the year. In contrast the soon to be reborn Soviet Union had a far easier task confronting it. The real fight would be in securing the Middle East oil fields. With the taps turned off the USA would wither and die on the vine.

  As in the first two world wars, closing the Atlantic was a priority for the submarine fleet. China, with her tiny submarine fleet was being loaned the services of two flotillas for use in the Pacific. This left a bare margin of reserves from the currently under covert refurbishment diesel and nuclear boats.

  The United Kingdom held no strategic value for the Russian forces and their allies. For America though the British Isles was potentially a giant aircraft carrier and staging post, as it had been during the cold war years and Second World War before that. ICBMs that had been aimed at China were now re-targeted. A large percentage of these weapons were now aimed at the British Isles.

  The mothballed, partially completed carrier Varyag would not be ready on Day 1, the workforce that had completed the Admiral Gorshkov / Mao was working around the clock in order to double Russia’s carrier force.

  There were many smaller operations, many vital and many merely designed to weaken their enemy. The small-scale operations could be rehearsed by those taking part, without compromising security. For some on the large-scale operations, it would be ‘on the job training’.

  With their work in China completed Serge Alontov had retired to his room for an early night. Shrugging off Peridenko’s invitation to share a bottle of vodka and the seventeen-year-old twins Peridenko had acquired in order to celebrate. His job here was finished and he felt no further need to feign cordiality with the man. He had been promised an active role, again in uniform. Serge had intended to be rested before their return flight to Moscow.

  Peridenko stretched and yawned. The wall clock told him he had five hours’ before he needed to depart for the airport. At the end of the massive bed he occupied lay the Chinese girls, still fast asleep and sprawled out naked in one another’s arms. The Chinese Minister for Education had assured him that the ‘ch'ing-kuan-jen’ girls were twins, yet what they had done to each other whilst he regained his strength, had been highly arousing rather than sisterly.

  An inch of vodka remained in the bottle and taking it by the neck he drained it. He was considering stretching out his leg to nudge them in to wakefulness, but the telephone rang.

  The military attaché in London had learnt that Peridenko’s agents, along with an Irish terror group were believed by the UK authorities to be responsible for the murder of several policemen in London. Furthermore the attaché had been unable to contact his deputy, Air Force Major Constantine Bedonavich. He did not know if the case had been retrieved, and oh yes, there was a nuclear incident in south London.

  Peridenko froze, one leg outstretched and the phone in his hand whilst fury began to grow in his chest. He was in that position when Serge rapped once, loudly on his door and stuck his head around it. Serge ignored the two naked sleeping girls.

  “America and Europe just announced a nuclear terror alert, get dressed, Politburo in 30 minutes” and departed. A roar of anger awoke the alleged siblings with a start, and Peridenko’s foot sent them tumbling off the end of the bed in a jumble of squealing naked limbs.

  White House, Washington DC

  It is fair to say that relations between Westminster and the White House had improved somewhat since 24th August 1814, when British troops had burnt down the original residence of the President of the United States of America. Tonight the president was speaking to the British prime minister over speakerphone in the White House situation room.

  Attended by his hastily summoned ‘battle staff’, the president was frowning deeply as he heard the details of the now confirmed nuclear device. The device had been made safe by the nuclear incident team from Aldermaston, and they reported that had it been unarmed. Thus far the device appeared to be of pre 1990 Soviet construction, although the arming mechanism was much newer, and in fact was state of the art.

  The full Aldermaston report, along with preliminary police and intelligence service reports had been received from England. Copies lay before all person’s present.

  Benjamin Dupre, the first black Director of the FBI, gazing over the top of his spectacles at the president was the first to speak once the call from London ended.

  “Sir, this would appear to be confirmation that nuclear bombs in suitcases are no longer an urban myth” he removed his eyeglasses to massage the bridge of his nose before continuing.

  “You will recall all the speculation and scare mongering in the press after September 11 regarding Bin Laden allegedly having bought, tried to buy, built, or whatever, nuclear bombs the size of backpacks or suitcases?” The president nodded in confirmation. Ben continued. “You will be aware of the high level defector, a KGB major who was involved in the development of these alleged things. When he came over in ’61 we doubted they had the expertise. He sounded credible and knew enough of the technical side but there just wasn’t any independent evidence to back it up though”.

  “Until now” said the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.

  “Until now” Ben agreed. “However, I do not see anything before us now that convinces me Al-Qaeda is behind the London bomb”.

  Terry Jones, the CIA head was also looking thoughtful.

  “Why make the Brits a present of a 2 kiloton unarmed nuclear device?” he turned a page to confirm a fact. “It was doused in Vanilla essence according to the Brit labs and that stuff smells just like plastic explosives to a human nose, it was shouting for attention. No way Al-Qaeda or any other terrorist group is going to do that!”

  “Unless of course….” Said Ben “…we got a friend on their side of the fence”.

  The president remained silent, listening to thoughts and theories batted about across the table for several minutes.

  “Alright gentlemen, we have a nationwide alert and once again the country will be grinding to a halt as we re-erect the roadblocks and the press gets even more paranoid”. He glanced irritably at the TV news monitors that in a few hours’ would alert the citizens of the United States of a threat worse than Anthrax.

  “We already have plans for this eventuality; let’s keep focused on finding any more of the damn things. The theorising can wait until then”.

  “Mr President?” Ben ventured. “What if we do have a friend…and what if that friend is not within Al-Qaeda, what if he, or she, is trying to warn us of an attack from a totally unexpected quarter?”

  Langley, Virginia: Same time

  Scott Tafler had thumbed his way through the reams of notes and computer printouts seized from O’Connor. The girl had been incensed when the accompanying agents had agreed between themselves that they had not the first clue as to what they were looking for. That had not amused her, she‘d had no choice in surrende
ring her work but she’d been damned if she would lift a finger to help. What had caused her to go ballistic was their clearing her office of every damn piece of hardware, software and scrap of paper. A subtle form of blackmail but one that had ensured her accompanying the seized property in a ‘company’ Lear Jet to Langley. The sooner he had all the information then the sooner she could get her life and business back.

  However, she was sat before his desk now with a bottle of mineral water in hand and her Irish eye’s still giving off the occasional flash of suppressed anger.