Day Zero

by James Swallow

  “Yeah. You know us?”

  “I know some things. You are revolutionaries?”

  “Resistance, innit?”

  “Same difference.” Tell’s smile faded. “I will not ask how you came to be on my trail. I will say it is possibly fortuitous. For the both of us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The kettle whistled. Tell rose and turned it off. As he prepared their tea, he said, “Three weeks ago, I was… employed to assemble a number of improvised explosive devices. This I did. Now, my former employer wishes me removed from play.” He set a steaming mug down before Olly. “Builder’s, I’m afraid. Milk?”

  Olly stared at him. “Just a drop. Go back to the bit about the explosives.”

  Tell sat back down. “I assume DedSec would be interested in stopping said devices from performing their function?”

  “You mean blowing up? Yeah, that sounds bad.”

  “Excellent. I will tell you everything.”

  “Really? I mean, that’s great and all.”

  Tell was silent for long minutes. Then, “I am sorry about your friend.” He took a sip of tea and looked at Olly. “I would have no more ghosts on my conscience.”

  Olly shook his head. He hadn’t been prepared for this. He couldn’t really say what he had been expecting, but not this. “Tell me,” he said, finally. “Start with your employer.”

  “I do not know their name. They call themselves ‘Zero Day’. I suspect it is an alias.”

  “You think?” Olly paused. “Why you?”

  Tell smiled. “If you are here, I’m sure you’ve realised that Marcus Tell is not my real name. That the life I lead is not mine, yes?”

  “These Zero Day people was blackmailing you,” Olly said.

  “Even so. They told me that unless I served them, they would reveal my identity to certain parties who bear me no love.” Tell’s smile turned grim. “I was a revolutionary of sorts myself, back in the day. There are many who would see me dead.”

  “And they wanted you to build bombs. Why?”

  “That I do not know. I do not even know where the bombs are. Though I can guess.” Tell paused. “There were others involved. A courier, from the Kelley gang – working for Clan Kelley, I always suspected. And a supplier, Holden.”

  “Holden?” Olly frowned. The name sounded familiar. Something Liz had said. “Bagley, you listening?” Tell raised an eyebrow at this seeming non-sequitur, but said nothing. “You getting this?”

  Indeed, I am, Oliver. You know, you really should have come back instead of haring off on your own. Things are getting dangerous out there.

  “Yeah. Listen… Holden – wasn’t that the bloke Hannah was looking for?”

  Oh good. Your brain appears to be working again. Yes, indeed. It seems Holden was the one providing our friend Marcus with the supplies he needed to build his toys. How convenient!

  Olly looked at Tell. “Holden was a go-between, yeah? He got you the goods, white van man delivered them…”

  “And then the same driver took them away, once I’d finished. A very tidy operation.”

  “What did Holden get out of it?”

  “Money, I assume. The same thing your van man did.”

  “He’s dead.”

  “I know.” Tell paused. “Holden is too, or will be soon enough.”

  He’s right, Bagley murmured.

  Olly blinked. “What?”

  George Holden turned up dead this morning, floating in Regent’s Canal with a bullet in his head. Mr Tell is the remaining link in this particular chain.

  Tell studied his face. “I was right. Holden’s dead.”

  “Looks that way.” Olly rubbed his face. “Fuck. I’m well out of my depth.”

  Tell smiled. “I have often felt that way myself. Especially these days.”

  Olly sat back, thinking. “We need to get you somewhere safe, figure out where those bombs are, and what comes next.”

  “I am safe here,” Tell protested. “I–” He paused suddenly, and stood with a grunt. “Perhaps I spoke too soon. We’re about to have guests.”

  “What?” Olly scrambled to his feet.

  Tell set his Optik on the table. “I’m wired in to the building’s security. See for yourself.”

  Olly did. On a black and white feed, bulky figures moved down the hall, all armed and in body armour. “Shit.” He sagged back. “Albion.”

  Indeed. Quite a few of them, in fact. You might want to think about leaving…

  “They must have found the camera, even as you did,” Tell said. He checked his weapon. “I hope you have something other than that stun gun to contribute.”

  Olly shook his head. “I need to think.”

  “You think. I’ll distract them.” Tell went to a closet in the hall and opened it. Removing a false panel, he pulled out a rucksack and set it down on the kitchen table. Inside were a number of metal canisters.

  “What are these?”

  “Homemade smoke grenades.”

  Olly looked at him. “Bombs and grenades?”

  “Every man should have a hobby,” Tell said. He pulled two of the canisters out. “The smoke will fill the corridor, but not for long. It might not even slow them down.”

  “Better than nothing.”

  Tell smiled. “My thoughts exactly.” He went to the door, cracked it, tapped the activator switch on the grenade and rolled it out the door. He did the same with the second. On the Optik screen, Olly watched as roiling smoke filled the corridor. The Albion operatives paused, fell back. Tell began to barricade the door. The old man moved quickly and methodically, as if he’d been ready for this day for a long time. “If you have an idea for how to get out, now is the time to implement it.”

  “How do you feel about flying?”

  Tell paused. “You have a helicopter?”

  “Not quite.” Olly went to the window, opened it, and looked out. There were a few drones in sight – including a sturdy Ixatech model. Easily big enough for two people, the cargo drones were fairly simple to take control of, and this one zipped towards the building quickly enough. “Right, here’s the plan: we take a drone down to the street, grab a car.”

  “A drone?” Tell asked, looking startled.

  “You could always just jump.”

  “It was not a criticism.”

  Olly flinched as a shotgun roared. There was a hollow, metallic sound. “Steel door?” he asked.

  Tell nodded. “Yes, but it won’t hold forever. Once the smoke clears, they’ll shoot out the hinges.”

  “It just has to hold long enough for us to get out of the window.” Olly turned. “Bagley, we need a route away from here.” No answer. “Bagley?” A burst of static was his only reply. As if the signal were being jammed somehow. He switched frequencies. “Krish?” For a moment, he thought it would be more of the same, then–

  “Olly? Mate?”

  Krish’s voice was strained. Tense. In the background, Olly heard what sounded like gunfire. “Krish, what the hell is going on?”

  “Don’t come back here, Olly – shit’s compromised, bruv. Albion–”

  Krish’s voice died in a blur of static. Olly cursed.

  “What is it?” Tell asked, from near the door. “Is something wrong?”

  “Albion. They’re hitting DedSec, or at least the bit of it I know how to get to.” Olly thought quickly. “You said you had flats, plural. Can you show me how to get to one of the others?”

  Tell nodded. “Yes, but we need to move now. The smoke is clearing.”

  Olly turned back to the window. “It’s almost here.” The drone was closing in, losing altitude as it drew near the window. “Need to be well quick, though.” Olly opened the window and made ready to climb out.

  There was a flash, just out of the corner of his eye. And then that awful sound. Boom. The cargo drone came apart in burning fragments. Olly was flung back, and felt the kitchen table collapse under him. Smoke canisters rolled from the rucksack as he fell on top of it.


  Tell was beside him a moment later. “What is it? Are you–?”

  Olly grabbed for him. “Get down!”

  Another shot, punching through the brick. Tell went flat. “No way out the window, then. We must try the door.” He grabbed for the rucksack. A shot caught it – smoke erupted, and the kitchen was filled with metal fragments.

  Olly yelped as one skidded across his cheek. “Forget it – we’ve got to get out of here…”

  He stopped. Tell lay propped against the fridge, his hands cupped across his stomach. A shard of one of his own canisters was buried in his gut. Smaller fragments jutted from his face and hands.

  “Fuck me…” Olly breathed.

  Tell gave Olly a twisted smile. He made to speak, but then, slowly, slid down. His features slackened and his eyes went vague and clouded. Olly stared at him in incomprehension.

  He was still staring when the door was blown off of its hinges and Albion operatives stormed in. He was knocked sprawling, a moment later his hands twisted up behind his back. The last thing he saw before they dragged him out, was a glint of metal through the window.

  A drone, banking away and heading for home.

  Faulkner was standing on the back ramp of the APV, lighting a cigarette, when Danny emerged from the old Limehouse garage, Hattersley trailing in his wake. Smoke boiled into the afternoon light, and pursuit drones circled like carrion birds. Danny started towards the APV to make his report. Hattersley followed, talking a mile a minute.

  “Did you see that armoury down there?” Hattersley asked, mopping at his face with a handkerchief. “They were 3D printing a whole bloody arsenal. We’re lucky they didn’t know we was coming.”

  “Yeah, funny that,” Danny said. “There’s cameras all over the place. You’d think they’d have had more warning.”

  “Maybe they weren’t paying attention.”

  “Maybe.”

  Hattersley shrugged. “Hey, whatever happened, I’m cushty. Any fight you can walk away from, right?” He paused. “You’re still bothered about that thing last night, aren’t you? That thing with Holden?”

  Danny stopped. “Wouldn’t you be?”

  Hattersley didn’t look at him. “It’s tough, man. But… you had to do it.”

  “Did I?” Danny stripped off his helmet.

  Hattersley didn’t say anything. Danny shook his head and looked around. There were uniforms everywhere. The Met was here, but positioned well back from the action. This was an Albion operation, and Faulkner didn’t intend to let anyone forget it. He wondered if Constable Jenks were over there somewhere. Part of him hoped not.

  Nearby, prisoners – what few there were – were being loaded into a transport, or into ambulances. The dead were being bagged up, ready to be delivered to the morgue. There were too many of the latter for Danny’s taste. He was tired – no, exhausted. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw Holden.

  He wasn’t sure what to do. Something told him reporting Faulkner’s actions wouldn’t end well for him. Faulkner wasn’t the sort to act on his own initiative. If he’d killed Holden, it was because he had orders to do so. Orders that could have only come from the top. And if that were the case… was that really the sort of brotherhood he wanted to belong to?

  Death didn’t bother Danny. Nor did violence. A soldier had to become used to both, very quickly. But there was a difference between shooting someone who had a gun trained on you, and taking out a man tied to a chair.

  The army, Danny’s army, didn’t execute prisoners without a damn good reason. As far as he could tell, Faulkner had only killed Holden because it was expedient to do so. The technician had outlived his usefulness and, worse, was a potential liability.

  He wondered – feared – what that meant for Ro. She’d been transferred to the custody suite at the base, and he hadn’t seen her since. He hadn’t even been allowed to talk to her, not that he knew what to say. How did one apologise for allowing one’s sibling to be arrested?

  Faulkner acknowledged their arrival at the APV with a nod. “They didn’t put up much of a fight,” he said. He sounded almost disappointed. He’d been watching the firefight through their Optik feeds. Three teams had gone in, taking the main entrance and blowing through the reinforced doors. There’d been around twenty hostiles – funny to think of fellow Londoners that way – inside. Many of them had surrendered immediately. Or tried to.

  But some had resisted. 3D printed weapons could kill as easily as the real thing. Luckily, there’d been no casualties, at least on Albion’s side. He thought again about how unprepared the hackers had been. Maybe Albion had caught them at the right time. Or maybe they’d been distracted. That didn’t explain why the various security measures Danny and the others had located had been disabled. Almost as if someone had set DedSec up to fail.

  “Still, well done, lads.” Faulkner tapped ash from his cigarette. “Looks like we caught a pair of Holden’s accomplices as well. They tried to set off a bomb, must have made a mistake and one of them wound up dead.”

  “And the other, Sarge?”

  “Safely in custody and being transported back to base for interrogation.”

  Danny hesitated. Wanted to speak. Didn’t. Faulkner looked at him for a moment, then said to Hattersley, “Go get a head count on the prisoners for me. I need to update the after-action reports. You stay here, Danny.”

  Hattersley glanced at Danny, but didn’t argue. Danny watched him go, trying to look anywhere but at Faulkner. He’d avoided the other man as much as possible since the night before. Since the incident with Holden. But he couldn’t avoid Faulkner forever.

  “Cigarette, Danny?” Faulkner asked. He held out the pack.

  Danny shook his head. “Don’t smoke, Sarge.”

  “No? Good for you.” Faulkner blew a plume of smoke into the air. “You did well in there, lad. Textbook.”

  “Thanks, Sarge.”

  “Few too many prisoners for my taste, though. Prisoners means paperwork.” Faulkner scratched his chin and turned back to the garage. “Nice little set-up they had. Takes time to build all that. Money. Burrowed in deep like ticks. What’s the one thing most organised terror groups have in common, Danny?” Faulkner went on before Danny could answer. “Money.”

  “Hackers, Sarge.”

  Faulkner laughed. “Grow up, Danny. Hackers steal pennies and piss. Everyone knows that. This sort of effort requires real money.” He flicked his cigarette to the ground and crushed it beneath his heel. “And that’s exactly what my report is going to say, once we’ve finished debriefing all these prisoners you got for me.”

  Danny cleared his throat.

  Faulkner looked at him, a slight smile on his face. “What was that, Danny? Something to say?”

  “My sister, Sarge…”

  “Ah, yes. Very proud of you there, Danny my lad. It takes true dedication to the cause to throw over blood in the name of Queen and country.”

  Danny swallowed a sudden rush of bile. Faulkner’s grin was almost more than he could bear. “Yes, Sarge.”

  Faulkner nodded. “Your sister has been very naughty, Danny. She’s a proper little villain. Doesn’t know much though, unfortunately. Otherwise the Kelleys would have never turned her over.” He extracted another cigarette and tapped it on the pack, thinking. “By rights, we should bang her up in Holloway nick for a nice long stretch.”

  Danny didn’t reply. Faulkner nodded again, as if Danny had done something right. “I’m still mulling on it, me. But you’re bound for great things, my lad. Keep your nose clean, and who knows what the future holds?” He lit a second cigarette and held out the pack. “Sure you won’t have one, Danny boy? Helps calm the nerves.”

  26: Aftermath

  Hannah was in a café, grabbing lunch for herself and Sarah, when the news broke. GBB footage rolled across her display and she froze, unable to do anything but watch. She’d only been to the DedSec hideout in Tower Hamlets once, but she knew it well enough to recognise the building Albion had
raided. And if there had been any doubt in her mind, the moment a handcuffed Krish was dragged into view, face bloodied, and unceremoniously tossed into the back of a waiting van would have made clear what had happened.

  A sudden panic gripped her. She looked around, expecting to see the police or worse, Albion, coming for her. Her order hadn’t arrived yet, so she hurried to the toilets. The ladies was empty so she locked herself in. Her heart was beating too fast, and for a moment, she feared she was having a serious panic attack.

  This wasn’t the first time a cell had been raided. There were procedures in place for this eventuality. DedSec operations were vaporous by design. Each cell in a given borough had their own way of doing things. And when one went down, the others went black until the danger passed. Forcing herself to calm down, she activated her Optik’s encrypted communications app. First things first – a status report. “Bagley?”

  Silence. A crackle of white noise. Then: Hannah, I’m pleased to hear you are in one piece. That’s more than I can say for some of the others.

  “That’s not funny, Bagley,” she hissed, pitching her voice low. “What happened?”

  Albion happened. There was no warning.

  “How is that possible?”

  You’re asking the wrong person. Actually, do I count as a person?

  “Bagley!” She flinched as her own voice echoed back at her.

  I don’t know how it happened. All I know is that it’s not an isolated incident. It’s happening at various sites over the city.

  “Show me.”

  Snippets of drone feeds peppered her display: a gang of graffiti artists in Walker’s Court were rounded up by armed Albion operatives; Albion pursuit drones swept over Camden Market in pursuit of a hooded cyclist; mass arrests in Leake Street, at the Barbican Centre and the Brixton Barrier block estate.

  “Enough,” she said. “What now?”

  I would recommend you leave the capital immediately.

  “I can’t.” Hannah closed her eyes and bowed her head. “I can’t.” She felt as if the world were coming apart around her. “Sarah would wonder where I went. People would get suspicious.”

  By the time they figured it out, you could have a new name, a new life.