The Call of Destiny (The Return of Arthur Book 1) (46 page)

The US President was in favour
of calling the evacuations off and telling everyone to go home. ‘If we don’t,
we’ll have a bloodbath on the streets of our cities.’ The Prime Minister of
Japan considered that far too risky. The President of the European Commission
thought it irresponsible. The Russian President favoured sending troops to the
Kingdom of the Euphrates who his intelligence services were convinced had
engineered the crisis. The President of China was against using force under any
circumstances. The French President refused to commit himself to joint action.
The German President suggested offering the terrorists a smaller ransom. Arthur
watched and listened, frustration welling up in him like a physical pain.

As tempers flared it became
clear that no decisive action would result from the conference call. It was
agreed that nothing would be said or done until they consulted again the
following day. Ironically, it was the only point on which agreement had been
reached. Contrary to the spirit of that agreement, however, sources close to
the White House hinted that there was “strong evidence” that the ultimatum was
a hoax. The news flashed round the world and was greeted with relief. In all
eight capitals hundreds of thousands now tried to make their way home, though
movement in the streets was painfully slow in any direction.

But then on Sunday morning,
nine a.m. London time, an e-mail was posted on the internet. No sooner had
Arthur finished reading it than Winslow Marsden was onscreen. ‘They say they’ve
concealed two unarmed devices in the White House.’ Arthur nodded. ‘They claim
there are two unarmed devices in Downing Street. They have given us the
co-ordinates so that we can . . . ’ He broke off. ‘As we speak, I’m being told
a similar message has been received by the other six countries.’

‘So am I,’ the President
confirmed. ‘I don’t get it. What are they up to?’

‘It’s their reaction to last
night’s news release from Washington,’ said Arthur. ‘Your people said it was a
hoax. If my guess is right, the Angels of Mercy are about to prove it isn’t.
They obviously anticipated we might think they were bluffing, so they prepared
themselves in advance. There can be no other explanation. They must have
planted unarmed devices with that in mind. It shows we are dealing with
extremely intelligent and highly professional people.’

The President did not believe
a word of it. ‘I don’t buy that. There are no devices. We called their bluff,
and now they’re getting desperate. That’s all there is to it.’

The President was being
irrational in Arthur’s view. But once again, what was the point in arguing?
‘We’ll know soon enough,’ he said.

Within a short time reports
began to come in from around the world. Unarmed devices had been located in
Beijing, Tokyo, Berlin, Brussels, Paris, Moscow, in the White House, and in
Numbers 10 and 11 Downing Street. In each capital there were two devices – one
nuclear, one biological – sixteen in all.

Minutes later the eight leaders were again on
the wrap - around screen. ‘According to our experts,’ said the French President
sombrely, ‘if the two devices we found had been armed and detonated, the centre
of Paris would have suffered severe contamination and massive damage. I don’t
wish to speak of casualties, but the estimates are frightening. One device was
a small but powerful nuclear bomb, the other a cocktail of biological poisons.
This is no hoax,
messieurs
.’

‘The Angels have made their
point,’ agreed Arthur. ‘Whatever

doubts we may have had, we now
know we have to take them seriously.’

‘Ok, so I underestimated the
bastards,’ said the US President, ‘but that doesn’t change a goddam thing. No
one is going to push the United States around. We will never give in to
terrorist blackmail.’ Arthur nodded vigorous approval. ‘Are we all agreed on
that?’ he asked. The response was unanimous. No surrender. No compromise.

‘Then,’ proposed Arthur, ‘we
carry on with the evacuations, and pray we get everyone out of danger in time.
Meanwhile we keep trying to open communications with the terrorists. Our
immediate objective must be to get an extension of the deadline.’

The Prime Minister of Japan
was disconsolate. ‘What if not successful?’

It was the ‘what if’ scenario
that Arthur always refused to discuss. ‘We can’t even think of that,’ he said.
‘One thing for sure, delaying the deadline will save lives.’

The German Chancellor rubbed
his tired eyes and unshaven face. ‘And is giving us more time to catch the
terrorists.’

Winslow Marsden flipped
through the pages of a memo in front of him. ‘The CIA are certain Iran is
behind the Angels.’

‘Is not infallible, the CIA,’
remarked the Russian President dryly.

‘Maybe not, but a couple of
neutron bombs on Tehran would solve a lot of problems,’ snapped the President
angrily.

‘Why only two?’ enquired the French President
with heavy irony.

The President of the
European Commission was incensed. ‘
Non, non
. I will not listen to such
talk! The Commission will never sanction the use of nuclear weapons.’

‘What will you sanction,
then?’ enquired the US President disdainfully. ‘Food parcels?’

‘I am also not agreeing to the
use of nuclear weapons,’ said the German Chancellor, ‘under any circumstances.’

A heated discussion followed,
in the middle of which the US President disappeared from the screen, followed
shortly by the others. Once again, no course of action had been agreed. One
thing was clear, if the Angels of Mercy could plant unarmed devices in
supposedly secure Government buildings, they were certainly capable of planting
the real thing more or less wherever they chose. It had to be assumed that the
devices existed, and that they were armed. But despite the most intensive searches,
not a single one had been found.

 At nine a.m. Washington time on Sunday,
Winslow Marsden spoke once again to the American people,

this time making no reference
to any arrests but expressing confidence that a solution to the problem was
imminent, and hinting at ongoing negotiations. The truth was, that for all his
reassuring words, there were no negotiations and no prospect of a solution, imminent
or otherwise. On the contrary, police and security forces were losing hope of
finding the devices. The search area was enormous and time was running out.

In London, operating around
the clock, thousands of troops and police combed government offices, private
houses and apartments, business premises, museums, railway stations, factories,
depots, theatres, concert halls, shops and warehouses. Below the city, the
underground and the huge network of sewers were searched. Above it flew dozens
of helicopters crammed with the latest detection sensors.

Compounding all the other
problems, the search was hampered by the swiftly deteriorating situation on the
streets. The information about the unarmed devices had been posted on the
internet by the Angels of Mercy. Any lingering hope that this might be a cruel
hoax had evaporated. Those sceptics who had remained in their homes, and those
who had left and had then returned, now took to the streets to swell the ever-
growing crowds.

By Sunday afternoon the
evacuation of London had slowed almost to a halt. Moreover there was now a new
and dangerous development. A million or more people were defying the ban on the
use of private cars, frustrated by the enormous queues at underground stations
and bus stops. North, south, east and west, every road out of London was
hopelessly blocked by cars and taxis.

In the morning, and again in
the afternoon, Arthur appeared on nationwide television to appeal for calm. But
all that people really wanted to hear was that the devices had been located and
disarmed. Since he was not able to tell them that, nothing he said had any
effect. Later that morning the cabinet met yet again, their fourth meeting
since the crisis broke. At the long table were two empty chairs. On their way
to Downing Street John Aitkinson, Home Secretary, and Angela Furnival,
Secretary of State for Employment, had been attacked by a mob of drunken youths
in Whitehall and beaten senseless.

‘It grieves me to bring you
this terrible news,’ Arthur told his shocked colleagues. ‘We are witnessing the
breakdown of law and order, and I fear things can only get worse. London is on
the verge of mob rule. Until the crisis is resolved, I am asking you all to
remain in Number 10. I cannot guarantee your safety. You are at least safer
here than on the streets. Sadly the news from the other capitals is much the
same, or worse. We are all of us dealing with widespread panic and hysteria.’

George Bedivere protested.
‘What about our families? We can’t just desert them.’

‘Give them whatever guidance
and reassurance you can,’ said Arthur. ‘But I’m sorry, you are all vital to the
success of our efforts, and your safety is paramount. The people depend on us.
Our first duty is to them.’

The news from overseas was
increasingly worrying. From Beijing there were reports of dozens of rioters
shot dead by troops in Tiananmen Square. In Moscow, the police had melted away,
and the army was nowhere to be seen. The city was in the hands of looters and
vandals. Every store on Kutuzovsky Prospekt had been ransacked, several public
buildings had been set on fire by arsonists, and mobs were attacking the
Kremlin.

In Berlin, police were battling angry, violent
mobs on the Kurfurstendamm, the Unterdenlinden and Strasse des 17 June. By now
nearly half the population of Tokyo and Brussels had been evacuated. Of those
who remained, many had barricaded themselves in their houses, the rest had
joined the mobs to loot shops and stores, or roamed the streets looking for
victims to mug.

In Paris, not only shops but
art galleries and museums had been looted. The Champs Elysées, the Rue de
Rivoli, the Avenue de l’Opera and the streets and boulevards on both banks of
the Seine were blocked with the wrecks of crashed and burned-out vehicles. In
the Place de la Concorde, in the Jardins des Tuileries, around the Tour Eiffel,
and in the Place Charles de Gaulle at the base of the Arc de Triomphe, rival
mobs battled. Already there had been many injuries and several deaths resulting
from incidents of road rage, and more than a million vehicles paralysed the
city centre in one massive traffic jam. The incessant wail of car horns was
like the cry of some giant primeval creature in the agony of its death throes.

Hundreds of private boats and
public ferries had been seized. Those who resisted the hijackers were thrown
into the river. Crowds thronged the banks and bridges of the Seine, waiting for
a chance to jump onto a passing boat. As a result many capsized, sinking almost
instantly, taking their terrified passengers down with them. Bodies drifted in
the turbulent waters. Even strong swimmers were helpless in the powerful
currents, waving their arms in desperation as they screamed for the help no one
could give them. The few boats still afloat swept by, their passengers averting
their eyes from the wretched souls drowning in the water.

In Washington people lay on
the streets and sidewalks, some with knife or gunshot wounds, others run down
by cars and trucks in the blind panic to escape the city. Many were dragged
from their cars and beaten, those who beat them frequently attacked in their
turn by others. A car, it seemed, was worth more than a life, or several lives,
even a car that could make no progress through the blocked streets. In one
tragic incident an oil tanker turned on its side and exploded, incinerating
more than eighty cars and buses packed with screaming men, women and children.
Traffic backed up miles from the city centre. Every road was blocked:
Pennsylvania and Constitution Avenues, Wisconsin and Massachusetts, where the
embassies had all been vandalised or petrol-bombed.

By late afternoon
street-fighting had broken out in London. In Oxford Street, the Cromwell Road,
Finchley Road, and on every bridge across the Thames, people lay exhausted or
badly hurt, passers-by stepping over them with scarcely a second glance. There
were no ambulances to be seen anywhere, no doctors or nurses. In the traffic
jams emergency services were unable to operate; even if they had been, the
hospitals were too full to cope with any more casualties. Mugged for valuables
or money, or knocked down by cars, the wounded, the dead and the dying lay on
trollies in corridors, on the floors of reception areas, on the pavements
outside.

Across the city huge fires
burned unchecked. Harrods, petrol-bombed, was a mass of flames, as was Harvey
Nichols and Selfridges in Oxford Street. Virtually every shop and store in the
centre of London had been looted, in Regent Street and Bond Street,
Knightsbridge and Sloane Street, the King’s Road, the Fulham Road and Kensington
High Street. Over Buckingham Palace and the Houses of Parliament hung a great
pall of smoke.

Amidst the chaos and terror on
the streets, some oases of calm remained, a sign that English phlegm was not
entirely a thing of the past. A few ancient and elite London clubs remained
open, their members studiously oblivious to what was happening outside. In the
Garrick, a case of the finest vintage claret was being sampled in the bar. In
the Athenaeum, a lively dispute raged on the subject of whether Elizabeth the
First was indeed a virgin Queen. In Whites, a few senior members languidly
discussed the comparative merits of the legs and breasts of the two young
waitresses serving their drinks. In Grays, two dozen bottles of malt whisky
were lined up on the bar, the blindfolded contestants wagering fortunes on
their ability to identify them by taste.

In the dim interiors of St
Paul’s and Westminster Abbey, so far untouched by vandals, a few elderly people
sat quietly, heads bowed, eyes closed, praying to a God their children and
grandchildren no longer believed in.

At six p.m. London time, one
p.m. Washington time, the government of Iran released a statement on television
and the Internet condemning all degenerate, cowardly and corrupt leaders of
suffering peoples. They were, the statement said, paying the price for their
godlessness, and for the contempt they had shown the Arab nations, and in
particular the people of Iran. The Angels of Mercy, the statement claimed, had
been driven to desperate acts by the barbarity and injustice of their treatment
at the hands of the eight sons of Satan. Whilst Iran did not condone terrorism,
it wished to make clear that any attack on its sovereignty would result in a
terrible and appropriate response.

This carefully worded bulletin
was interpreted as confirming that the Angels of Mercy were controlled by the
Iranian government, or were at least operating with their full knowledge and
approval. As expected the US Administration reacted strongly. If the Iranians
were supporting a bunch of ruthless terrorists they would have to take the
consequences. What those consequences might be was not specified, though there
was naturally much speculation. Some commentators forecast a nuclear attack on
Iran.

Whilst the eight leaders
watched helplessly as their capital cities plunged into mayhem and chaos, a
second statement released by the Iranian government less than an hour later
confirmed their willingness to ‘facilitate negotiations’ with the Angels of
Mercy. Within seconds, a jubilant American President was onscreen in Number 10.
‘They’re backing off, Arthur. What did I tell you? All we had to do was tough
it out.’ For the first time it did indeed seem that there were grounds for
hope. In the circumstances, and after consultation between all eight leaders,
it was agreed, though with considerable reluctance on the part of the American
President, to transmit a conciliatory message to Tehran expressing confidence
that they would assist in resolving the crisis.

In response, the Iranians
indicated through their overseas embassies the nature of a major concession
they claimed to have negotiated. The timing of the explosions would depend on
the “attitude” of each government involved.

Yet another onscreen
conference was hastily arranged. Whilst the Iranian announcement was vague, no
doubt intentionally so, it appeared that the terrorists were now willing to
negotiate separately with each country. It was what Arthur had feared. He urged
his fellow world leaders not to be deceived. ‘It’s nothing but a trap. Divide
and rule. If we fall into it, they’ll play one against the other, and we shall
all be the losers. I repeat, our strongest weapon – perhaps our only weapon –
is our unity. If we surrender that, we are all done for.’

‘Mr. Pendragon right,’ said
the Chinese President. ‘We must stand shoulder to shoulder, for the sake of
future generations.’ Winslow Marsden was unimpressed. ‘It’s this generation I’m
accountable to. They are the ones who put me in the White House. It’s their lives
at risk. If I have to make a deal to save thousands of American lives – maybe
hundreds of thousands – then I’ll sure as hell make a deal.’

‘Only a few hours ago,’ said
Arthur, ‘you assured me the United States would never negotiate with
terrorists. We were all agreed. No surrender, no compromise.’

‘That was a few hours ago.
This is now, and we’re that much closer to a major catastrophe. The way I see
it, this is a tactical withdrawal, not a retreat, and most certainly not a
surrender. We’ll go after those terrorist bastards when we’re good and ready.
But we’re the ones who’ll choose the time and place, not them. Meanwhile we
have no option. We have to negotiate.’

The French President agreed.
‘France too is ready to negotiate. We shall release their comrades from our
prisons. We are also prepared to discuss money. I am certain they will accept
much less than they have demanded. We would even, for the sake of the glory of
France and to save lives, be ready to discuss some foreign policy adjustments,
perhaps even some government resignations.’

The Prime Minister of Japan
nodded. ‘If settlement possible for less than full demands, we are also ready
to talk.’

Arthur refused to give up,
though in his heart he knew he was losing the argument. ‘I beg you, all of you,
think what you are doing. These people are ruthless. They cannot be trusted.
Any deal they make, they will break – if not now, then in a few weeks, a few
months, a few years. What will they demand next time? Our lives? Our women and
children? Our countries? Our only hope is to remain united. We must show them
that we speak as one, act as one. We dare not surrender to blackmail. We all
have one thing in common – our belief in democracy. But what good is democracy
if we are not willing to fight for it?’

‘Admirable sentiments,
Monsieur Pendragon,’ said the President of the European Commission. ‘I salute
an idealist. Regretfully this is a time for being practical.’ The Russian
President scowled. ‘When gun is pointed at head, is luxury, idealism.’ The
President of China had swiftly changed his mind. ‘Democracy, fantasy. Survival,
reality.’ Arthur looked at the German Chancellor, his last remaining hope. ‘I
respect your views, Mr. Pendragon,’ said the Chancellor. ‘What is more, I fear
you may be right. But I have not your courage. I too am for negotiating.’ The
videolink was cut, and Arthur was alone.

The terrorists’ third
communication came at eight p.m., London time. Like the first and second
message it was posted simultaneously in all eight capitals. The sting was in
the last sentence. ‘This is our final communiqué. We inform you that we are
ready to negotiate with your country separately from the seven others. But we
warn you that we shall explode three devices in each capital in turn in a
sequence to be determined by us,
unless and until we have concluded a
satisfactory settlement with all eight of
you.
’