WEDNESDAY, THIRD MORNING AFTER EASTER He’d left the smuggling party behind on the way down to the valley, racing despite his heavy load, dawn was just arriving, a grey cloudy day, typical West Country [more…]
The Turk was almost ecstatic, after all the set-backs, the doubts, only nine-eleven put this in the shade, and this was somehow more personal, more intimate, a stab at the heart of a major western [more…]
The emergency sub-committee were all back in the main room: the ceasefire at Broadcasting House was over two hours old now and disparate reports were starting to be assimilated, an incomplete but increasingly coherent picture [more…]
Why had he said that, the flood of relief perhaps at this unexpected, nay miraculous, escape from his impetuous stupidity? The man’s wife, a barely repressed desire to tell him she was safe? “I’ll report [more…]
Andy Bowson received the command and sprinted across the street, followed by the others. Visibility was returning, only the smoke billowing out from parts of the building giving them any cover from unseen gunmen that [more…]
One of Andy Bowson’s team spotted movement through the settling dust high up in Broadcasting House and called out; Andy trained his carbine’s telescopic sight on it to see four half naked women lined up [more…]
Bowson heard through the radio that operational control was being passed to the military, they all knew what that meant. He was summoned back to the temporary situation base in the north-eastern corner of Cavendish [more…]
The man’s no coward, hesitates, part of him wants to fight, sees the young man turn away, crouching low, one rifle over his shoulder, the other grasped in both hands, feet race past the closed [more…]
The Cabinet Office emergency centre was buzzing and crowded: the PM, senior ministers, Met Commissioner and Ted Armstrong, the heads of MI5 and MI6, Director of GCHQ on the phone, senior military officers, the Chief [more…]
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