CHAPTER
TWENTY SEVEN
NO
PLAN SURVIVES THE FIRST CONTACT WITH THE ENEMY
Three
hundred miles to the south, Edward Montford was in the command centre
in Northwood Military HQ. The room was mainly filled with senior
officers. He was with the Home Secretary and the Defence Secretary.
Six
Oxys had taken his heart rate down to the kind of numbers usually
reserved for an Olympic marathon runner. All around him bodies moved
with tense efficiency. Everyone was speaking in hushed tones for no
particular reason. It wasn't like anyone was listening. The calm had
been disturbed by the strange report from Charlotte Square. Something
had certainly happened. Two policemen were laid out of the ground and
the front door was wide open.
After
a brief conversation, the officers in command had decided they had no
other option than to continue as planned. Edward tried to make any
kind of sense of the news, but drew nothing but blanks. Had it been
some sort of kidnap? A coincidence to end all coincidences? No way.
Not in a million years.
Was
there any point in agonising about it? None whatsoever. The opiates
gave him the clarity he needed. There were only two options on the
table. He could either call the whole thing off or he could keep
silent. Black and white. No grey area.
No
way was he calling anything off. He sat quiet and kept his thoughts
to himself.
When
the much anticipated Zulu finally arrived, it proved to be something
of a damp squib. At Zulu plus two the first report came in. A secured
road junction. By the time Zulu plus five arrived the reports were
coming in thick and fast. The last of the three barracks was secured
at Zulu plus twenty one. The airport came in at Zulu plus twenty
five. The Leuchars air base was the last target to be secured at Zulu
plus thirty.
By
this time Edward Montford was barely paying attention anymore. All
the pleasure he had looked forward to feeling as a clockwork
operation played out in front of him had started to evaporate at Zulu
plus four when Team 7 checked in.
“Team
7 target secure. Repeat, target secure. Tango One unavailable.
Repeat, Tango One unavailable.”
“Roger
that Team 7. Maintain target security and wait out.”
Fuck.
It
had been him. What in the name of fucking Christ was going on....
Montford
had always prided himself on his instincts and right now they were
setting off klaxons in his brain. Something was off. Badly off, But
he couldn't begin to work out what it was.
He
found out at Zulu plus 27.
CHAPTER
TWENTY EIGHT
ON
THE RUN
As
soon as they cleared the last of the city, Alf floored the
accelerator and only dipped below eighty for the sharper corners. As
the moonlit world hurtled by, Sam brought Scotland's First Minister
up to speed with what was happening to his country.
At
first, Angus refused to believe a word of it. Sam had expected
nothing less.
“Come
on Angus. Think about it. Think about what happened at midnight on
Monday. The biggest fire London has seen in nearly 400 years. Now
have a think about what Montford had to say the next day. Who did he
have fitted up to play the part of the big, bad bogeyman? Come on
Angus, get with the programme. The fire was the set up. No doubt he
paid Holbrooke Securites to make it happen. Tomorrow morning the smug
bastard will be telling the world all about how he had no choice.”
“But
he can't just invade. This is 2030 for Christ's sake. You don't just
go and take a bloody country.....”
He
never came close to finishing the sentence. How could he? Because
speaking half the sentence was more than enough for him to see how
completely wrong it was. This could happen precisely because it was
2030. Five years of heat and drought had changed everything. Montford
was empowered by Turkey and Israel and China. So, of course he could
invade Scotland.
“Christ.
I know. But still. I mean this is just crazy. We've just driven all
the way out of the city and we've not seen a bloody soul. How can you
tell me the English Army is right now taking control of our capital.”
Wendel
tuned out of listening to the chatter and chipped in.
“It's
not old school. This isn't Hitler marching the Sixth Army into Paris.
It's twelve hundred guys taking hold of all the key targets.”
He
gave Angus a five minute version of Barn Owl.
“But
there will have to be more than twelve hundred?”
“There
will be. Already in the air. In the next couple of hours, there will
be plane after plane landing at the airport. By nine o'clock the
Paras will be heading into town to take over from the special forces.
By noon the city will be locked down by a force of three thousand.
They think it will be a done deal."
“But
you don't.”
“Too
fucking right I don't. OK. We're almost at Balerno. Do you believe us
yet?"
“Not
really.”
“Fair
enough. Sam, get the radio on.”
Sam
already had the SBC's favourite through the night programme tuned in.
She switched on. Nothing. Silence. Dead air. She tried four more
stations only to find the same ominous void. She tuned into BBC Radio
Two to demonstrate the radio was working south of the border. It was.
An old late night Sinatra song briefly filled the car before she
snapped the radio off.
“By
now all the main TV and radio stations will be locked down. From here
on in Montford intends to have total control of all mainstream
information.”
“It's
like a bloody Coup.”
“Precisely.
Army Command has pulled Barn Owl straight out of a CIA playbook from
the 70's.”
Alf
pulled up in front of a small cafe which was very much closed for the
night. There wasn't much call for 24 hour coffee on the A70 between
Edinburgh and Balerno.
“Come
on sir. Let's be having you. Are we past the gun thing?”
“Yes,
of course. Why are we stopping here?”
“Good
WiFi.”
Alf
dealt with the front door lock in less than twenty seconds. The cafe
area was done out farmhouse kitchen style. Wendel and Alf took up a
watching brief by the front door whilst Sam set up a video camera on
a tripod. Once she was happy with it she positioned a lighting unit.
She
clicked the record button and hurried to her mark.
“This
is Sam Keating reporting from the South of Scotland. Twenty two
minutes ago the Westminster Government launched what they are calling
Operation Barn Owl. Barn Owl is basically an invasion of Scotland.
1200 men from the SAS and SBS have taken over all key installations
in Edinburgh. Army barracks, TV and Radio stations. Police stations.
The Scottish Parliament. As I speak it is fair to assume every target
is now under the control of the English Army. Edinburgh International
Airport and the Leuchars Air Base will also have been secured. The
most important goal of Operation Barn Owl was to kidnap Scotland's
First Minister and to take him into custody. Well, Barn Owl has
failed. First Minister Angus Campbell is here with me right now.
First Minister, do you have a message for the people of Scotland?"
Angus
stepped into the light with a furious expression. "Yes Sam, I
certainly do. I am still getting up to speed with the objectives of
this so called Operation Barn Owl. It seems to me Edward Montford is
somewhat deluded. He seems to think control of our capital and our
military installations is enough for him to seriously believe he can
rule us. Well, I suggest he takes a moment 'tae think again', to coin
a phrase. Scotland is a mighty big country and we Scots don't take
well to being invaded. So if you think it's all over Mr Montford,
well, best of luck with that one.
'My
message to the Scottish people? That is simple enough. Over the
course of the next few days, you are going hear a whole lot of
English shite coming out of the TV and the radio. That's ALL it will
be. Pure shite. I expect we're all about to be treated to some fairy
tale about it being our fault he didn't have enough water to put his
fire out. No doubt we will say he had no choice but to invade us
because he couldn't stand by and see his people go thirsty. I suggest
his convenient fire might warrant a closer look. I wonder if his best
pals from Holbrooke Securities might have had something to do with
it? We'll see. I wouldn't put anything past the Right Honourable
Edward Montford.
'Well.
I am still your First Minister and as far as I'm concerned this war
will only be over when I say it's over, not when that public school
prick from London says it's over. I apologise for the intemperate
language, but you will probably gather I am seriously pissed off. I
have no doubt you will all feel exactly the same. That will have to
do for now. We need to move. Watch this space.”
Sam
nodded. Wendel gave a one man round of applause. “Bloody hell sir.
I well liked the bit about 'English shite'. You'll do for me.”
Sam
concentrated furiously as she hooked the camera to her laptop and
transferred the footage. She checked the quality and nodded quiet
approval. Next, she connected to the internet and uploaded to
YouTube. She had already fully prepared a page to have everything
ready for the film. Once it was transferred, she checked it was
working and gave herself another nod. One final task. She had her
editor's personal mobile all ready to roll. A groggy voice picked up
on the fifth ring.
“Bloody
hell Sam, what the......”
“No
time Bill. Just listen OK. I've e-mailed you a YouTube link.
Basically, it is the biggest story on planet earth and the Guardian
is going to be in front of it. I have also e-mailed you the raw
footage for the website. The film explains everything. You won't be
wanting to go back to sleep anytime soon. Bye for now."
She
killed the call and a minute later they were on the road again.
Wendel made a call.
“LZ
in five. You good?.... Roger that.”
“We're
all good?” Asked Alf.
“Yeah.
Good as gold.”
Three
miles later they pulled into the car park of a small rugby club.
Angus was about to ask what on earth they could possibly do in a
rugby club at four o'clock in the morning. He didn't bother. The
growing sound of an approaching helicopter told him all he needed to
know. He had to admit it, this was a hell of a slick abduction.
The
helicopter dropped down more or less right on the centre line of the
pitch. The pilot was Bennie Gilmour, a Kiwi chancer who had lifted
Wendel in and out of a number of tight corners over the years. Civvy
Street meant a one man band which went under the name of 'Fly with
Bennie'. Business hadn't exactly boomed and he was more than happy to
agree to accept the whole of Sam and Wendel's savings as a fee for
his night's work.
His
passengers drove the car into the middle of the field and climbed
aboard.
The
pilot greeted them with a gap tooth grin. "Morning all. Welcome
on board. We hope you'll enjoy your experience with 'Fly with
Bennie..."
“Fuck
off Bennie and get this crate airborne will you?”
“No
worries mate.”
They
strapped themselves in as the helicopter lurched up into the slowly
lightening sky. Wendel helped Angus to get his helmet working and
then spoke through the radio.
“Where
are we going?”
“North.
Fort George. The Black Watch. The brainboxes who planned Barn Owl
didn't think there was a need to take Fort George. They assume once
they have a complete hold of the rest of the Scottish Army and
Airforce, the Black Watch will have no choice but to surrender. I
expect they would have wanted you to make the call."
“Bastards.”
“Indeed.
So here's what I need you to do. I'm going to get you through to the
night officer and you're going to have to convince him to wake up
Colonel Jackson. Do you know him?"
“Not
particularly well. We've talked a few times.”
“Good
enough. Tell Jackson what has gone down and make sure he goes onto
full alert. Make sure he's ready for us to land …. how long do you
reckon Bennie?”
“Nice
night. No weather. Say 50 minutes mate.”
“Fifty
minutes. You ready?”
“Go
for it.”
At
first, the squaddie on the desk wasn't having any of it. Angus had to
adopt as fierce a tone as he could muster.
“Look
sunshine, if you listen hard enough I'm sure you'll recognise my
voice. And I'm sure you can hear the sound of the helicopter I am in.
How many nutters make hoax calls at four o clock in the morning from
a bloody helicopter? Not many, right? So stop buggering about and get
Colonel Jackson on the line. Tell him this. When we sat next to each
other at a dinner last November he told me some stupid joke about a
frog and a rabbit. OK?"
The
joke about the frog and the rabbit sealed the deal. A minute later
the gruff tones of Colonel James Jackson AKA 'JJ' were in the
headphones.
“First
Minister?”
“Yes.
Is the frog and the rabbit joke proof enough for you?”
“Yes,
sir. More than enough. How can I help?"
“It
might be a good idea to sit down. Bullet points, OK?”
“Fine.”
“Less
than an hour ago the English Army invaded Scotland. Special Forces
have taken control of all key installations. They also have the media
and the Parliament. They were supposed to have me but as you can hear
I got away. They assumed once they had me and the rest of the Cabinet
locked down, they could easily enough force me to order the Black
Watch to stand down. Well if you'll pardon my French, fuck that. Ten
minutes ago I posted a message to the people of Scotland on YouTube.
In a nutshell, my message was 'No Surrender'. We have to assume they
might guess where I am headed, though I very much doubt they will
expect me to have a helicopter. They might well change their plans.
You need to prepare for a possible air strike. OK. I think that's
enough. We will be with you in about 45 minutes. Please be ready for
us. Check out YouTube. Try to make contact with any of our bases in
Edinburgh. It won't take you so very long to realise I've not gone
round the bend. All clear JJ?"
“Yes.
All clear. Good work sir.”
“Thanks,
JJ. See you soon."
By
now the sky was a starting to glow red. Ahead of them the mountains
of the north were majestic in the light of the dawn. Angus drank in
the view. It was genuinely awe inspiring. So Edward Montford thought
he could take Scotland in a few hours did he?
Aye
right.
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