Invasion (30 page)

Lucas reached overhead and depressed another set of switches to engage the main rotor, twisting the power grip on his collective to bring the rotor speed up. A quick scan of his instruments told him that all systems were fully operational and the aircraft was prepared for flight. In fact, he could feel the Dark Eagle just itching to leap into the sky. All he needed now were his passengers. He saw the nearby fire escape door swing open and Hopkins appeared, dragging a sorry-looking figure behind him. He nudged his co-pilot and nodded. The Prime Minister was alive.

Harry gasped for breath as
he staggered out onto the roof. A blast of
rotor wash
assaulted him, plastering the clothes against his body, and he bent forward against the wind. The strange thing was he could hardly hear the black, angular helicopter that vibrated impatiently in front of him. It was so quiet, just a low, whupping noise, like a chopper heard from some distance away. The side door
slid back and, with a firm hand from Hopkins, Harry was seated on a bench behind the pilots and securely strapped in. He took the proffered headset and the pilot’s voice hissed in his ears.

‘Glad to see you made it, Prime Minister. My name is Flight Lieutenant Lucas and this is my co-pilot, Flying Officer Stanton. As soon as your military escort arrives we’ll
get airborne
.’

Harry nodded, still fighting to regain his breath. ‘How long have you been here?’ he eventually gasped.

‘Long enough.’

He saw Lucas glance at his watch, then both pilots shared a look.
‘We don’t leave without them,’ Harry said into his microphone. ‘If they stay, I stay.’

Lucas swivelled in his seat. ‘Prime Minister, my orders are-’

‘Screw your orders. We wait.’

Lucas shook his head. ‘Three minutes, Sir, that’s all I can give you. We can’t take the risk, not now you’re on
board.’

Harry nodded grimly.
Come on, Mike. Where the bloody hell are you?

Gibson crawled over glass and debris as he inched his way across the road. At least a couple of dozen Arabians were milling around the entrance to the park. A few luminous
sticks were cracked and thrown on the ground to mark the entrance, but soon that wouldn’t be necessary. In a while it would be light enough to see without artificial aids. If Gibson stood now, he’d
probably be spotted. He could continue crawling, using the cars as cover, but it was taking too long. Farrell’s urgent voice hissed in his earpiece.

‘The chopper can’t wait. You’ve got to move now.’

Gibson considered
ordering Farrell to leave him behind. If the chopper waited, then he was effectively compromising
the mission and Gibson had never done that in his professional life. He also knew the helicopter
was his only real hope of getting out of the city before daybreak, otherwise he might never get out. But the mission was paramount. Evacuate the Prime Minister to Alternate One.

He was about to reach for his radio when a new voice sounded in his earpiece, a distinctive voice he’d heard a hundred times on the TV.

‘Mike, this is Harry. You
need to get back here as soon
as you can. Our pilots are eager to leave, but I’ve told them we can’t go without you. Do you understand?’

Gibson thought for a moment, then quickly made his decision. He keyed
his radio.
‘Go now,’ he whispered. ‘I appreciate what you’re saying, but I won’t make it. I’ll hole up for a few days somewhere, find another way out. But you need to go now. I’m sorry, Sir.’

On the roof, Harry nodded to the pilot. With seemingly no effort, the Dark Eagle lifted off the roof and nosed out above the street below. It swivelled under its own rotors until it faced east towards Kensington Gardens. Lucas interrogated his Low-Light Head Up Display built into his helmet visor. Below them, he could see the ghostly images of two trucks, the armoured vehicle and a couple of dozen Arabian soldiers
spread out around the entrance to the park. The Dark Eagle’s thermal imaging cameras also picked out the ghostly silhouette of Mike Gibson, lying prone behind an abandoned vehicle not fifty yards from the nearest Arabian truck. With a series of voice commands, Lucas alerted his weapons systems to immediate action.

‘WepsComp, activate.’ The targeting radar built into the nose cone of the Dark Eagle interrogated
the ground below. It painted the vehicles and troops below with a single emission sweep, uploaded the information into the weapons system computer and waited for its next command. Lucas glanced at the targeting receptacle that floated over each target.

‘Switch target, switch target, target selected. Switch target, target selected.’ In less than seven seconds Lucas had targeted the armoured vehicle and both trucks with three forty-millimetre rockets each and a group of Arabian soldiers with a two-second burst of twenty
millimetre cannon. ‘Prepare to fire.’

Lucas turned to Harry and gave him a thumbs
up. Harry keyed his own radio. ‘Gentlemen, we’re right above you. Keep your heads down and, when the shooting
starts, get up on the roof as quickly
as you can.’

On the ground, Farrell ducked back into Young Street and Gibson curled up tight under the abandoned vehicle. They both realised what was coming.

‘Fire, fire, fire!’

On
the push of a button, nine forty-millimetre rockets hissed from the armaments pods of the Dark Eagle and streaked towards their targets. Almost simultaneously,
one
hundred
and
thirty-three
explosive twenty-millimetre cannon rounds chewed up the largest congregation
of Arabian troops with a loud ripping sound, sending body parts spinning through the air. Before the survivors knew what had happened, the rockets impacted into the vehicles at
the park gates and the resulting explosions lit up the early morning gloom. Each vehicle was thrown upwards in separate fireballs, their own fuel tanks erupting and adding to the inferno.

Gibson was up and running as the missiles hit and a blast of hot air washed over him. Seconds later, metal fragments and hot debris rained down around him. As he got to the corner of Young Street, he turned and looked back. A long burst of automatic fire chipped the concrete over his head and smashed windows in the Barkers building behind him. He’d been spotted, and two or three Arabians were already zigzagging through the abandoned
vehicles, their silhouettes backlit by the burning vehicles. He turned and raced towards the building. Farrell was waiting, covering him as he sprinted across the side street. As he reached the entrance, Farrell opened fire over his head with a short burst.

‘They’re right on your arse! Keep going!’

Gibson charged through the open door and both men sprinted
across the marble lobby towards the fire escape. Gibson ordered Farrell up the stairs and slammed the door behind him. He grabbed a fire extinguisher from the wall, pulled the pins from two grenades and trapped them between the extinguisher and the door. It was a crude booby-trap, but hopefully it would slow their pursuers.

Halfway up the stairs, they heard the twin detonations of the grenades below and a high-pitched scream echoed up the stairwell. A burst of fire from below forced them against the walls as bullets ricocheted
off the steel handrail, but they were nearly at the top. They crashed through the door onto the roof.

The Dark Eagle was there, hovering quietly, a crewman waving them furiously aboard. They ran for the side door and clambered over the Prime Minister, giving the thumbs-up to the pilot. Immediately, Lucas increased power, the helicopter rising like an express elevator until it was a hundred feet above street level. He spun the nose around and dipped it, turning the aircraft westwards. Within
a few seconds they had accelerated to nearly one hundred and twenty miles an hour as the dark rooftops of West London flashed beneath them.

They'd
cut it very fine indeed and everyone on board said a silent prayer of thanks.

The Kingfisher slipped
quietly
along
the River Thames, making steady progress westwards under the pale light of the moon. For the crew, the last few hours had been the most traumatic of their lives, but the low throb of the boat’s engine combined with the gentle lapping of the dark waters
had helped to calm their ragged nerves. While Khan steered the boat, Alex sat perched on the bow, keeping forward watch. At the stern, Kirsty scanned the riverbanks
as the Kingfisher took them further out of the city. They sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, but comforted by the fact that the immediate danger appeared to be behind them, where the sky glowed red and distant thunder rumbled ominously. Every now and then Alex turned to check on Kirsty, and when she caught his glance she smiled.

The river took them past the shadowy expanse of Kew Gardens and they drifted silently under the deserted Twickenham
Bridge. Towards Richmond, the river began to narrow and Khan steered the boat midstream, warning Alex and Kirsty to watch the banks for potential trouble. Behind the ornate buildings that lined the riverbank to their left, the sky throbbed with a bright orange glow, a sign that Richmond town centre was ablaze. Burning embers danced lazily in the air and the roar of flames and the crash of collapsing timbers
echoed across the rooftops. Khan teased a bit more power from the engine, leaving the depressing scene behind them.

At Glovers
Island, the river turned west and then dipped south towards Kingston, where they passed under that bridge without event, chugging past Thames Ditton and moving slowly on towards Chertsey. The only life they saw were bats, flitting silently on the night air, and a family of swans and cygnets, who watched the Kingfisher warily
as they drifted by.

A short while later, Alex bolted upright then made his way quickly back into the wheelhouse.

‘Could be trouble up ahead,’ he said.

‘Show me.’

Khan throttled back to a couple of knots headway and left Kirsty at the helm. Out on deck there was little to see, but Khan heard the noise too. Vehicles. Lots of them.

‘Do you know where we are?’ asked Khan.

‘Well, that was Shepperton lock back there, which means that that must be Chertsey over there.’ Alex pointed to the
southwest
. In the distance, they could see the dark silhouettes of low-rise buildings set against the night sky. ‘I’d
imagine that’s traffic on the M3 motorway, possibly the M25. Either way, there’ll be a bridge sooner rather than later.’

‘It’s the M3,’ said Kirsty, leaning out of the wheelhouse window. Alex raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re sure?’

‘Definitely. Chertsey lock is
up ahead and directly after that is
the M3 motorway bridge. I’ve checked the map.’

While Khan studied the ground ahead with binoculars, Alex joined Kirsty in the wheelhouse.

‘You read maps too,’ he smiled. ‘Smart
as well as pretty.’ Kirsty didn’t reply.
‘Sorry. Just kidding.’

‘I know.’

‘You okay?’

‘I like being on the boat, that’s all. Feels safe.’

‘Once we get to Rob’s place it’ll be better, trust me.’

Khan returned to the wheelhouse. ‘It’s getting light. We’ve got to get off the river as soon as possible.’

Alex pointed through the windshield. ‘There’s a spot just ahead that’ll give us some cover.’

‘Good idea,’ Khan said. ‘Let me have the wheel.’ He spun the helm, turning the Kingfisher towards a large stand of willow trees overhanging the water on the southern bank. He cut the engine, steering the vessel silently and expertly under the drooping canopy. Out on deck, Alex used his
foot t
o brace the boat as it bumped against the weed-covered bank, then tied the craft off around an emergency life-belt stand.

They gathered again in the wheelhouse, Khan scanning the bridge ahead with his binoculars. Through
the limp curtain of willow branches he saw movement on the bridge. There were soldiers on the parapet and, behind them, the dark shapes of fast-moving traffic, rubber tyres humming noisily on the air. He watched for at least two minutes then passed the binoculars across.

‘That’s a lot of vehicles,’ noted Alex.

‘Sure is,’ agreed
Khan, ‘and all headed for London. Looks like we made the right decision.’

‘Agreed. Trouble is, what do we do now?’ Alex peered into the darkness. On the shore, the open ground was dotted with oak trees, providing overhead cover for a couple of hundred yards. There were several vehicles out there in the gloom and, as his eyes gradually became accustomed to the shadows on the shore, he realised they were caravans and motor homes. They looked lifeless and deserted, shrouded in darkness.

‘Let’s keep going, by road. It’s only about thirty miles from here. I know the way.’

Kirsty frowned. ‘Really? Aren’t we safer on the boat?’

‘We can’t stay tied up here and we’ll never get under that bridge.’

‘He’s right, Kirsty. The sooner we get moving the better.’ Khan turned to
Alex. ‘It means stealing a car. You okay with that?’

‘First time for everything,’ Alex smiled.

‘Good. Wait here.’

It didn’t take long to find a suitable vehicle, a powerful Range Rover parked next to a trailer home where a warm light shone behind the curtains. Khan knocked on the door and, when it opened, he pushed inside. Thirty seconds later he returned with the key. He started the vehicle up and jumped out, beckoning the others
with a frantic wave. Alex was impressed
until he saw two elderly, frightened faces peering at them from behind the curtains.

‘Jesus Christ, Dan. What did you do?’

‘They’re fine. Get in.’

Alex hesitated. ‘We can’t do this. Let’s find another one.’

‘There’s no time. Jump in the back. You up for driving, Kirsty?’

‘Sure.’

‘Good. Alex and I will ride shotgun.’

As they pulled away beneath the trees, Alex offered a sheepish wave to the elderly couple, then Kirsty hit the throttle, accelerating towards the main gate in a cloud of dust and gravel. She kept the lights off, carefully navigating the narrow road that twisted through the trees. They passed the park reception centre and found themselves at the junction of the main road. To their left they could see the smaller Chertsey Bridge. To the right, the road stretched away into the early-morning gloom, the emptiness almost eerie.

‘Let’s keep the lights off for a while and take it real easy,’ instructed Khan.

‘Which way to the farm?’ asked Kirsty, nervous
about leaving the boat but grateful to be doing something constructive.

‘Go right,’ said Alex. ‘I’ll tell you when to turn.’

The Range Rover spun out onto the road and purred quietly along the darkened street, leaving the Kingfisher and the river behind them.