The Keepers of the Library (26 page)

“I’m awaiting a callback from our HQ,” the MI5 officer said. “They don’t know anything either.”

“I’ve requested emergency backup from all the SWAT units within a fifty-mile radius but it’s going to take a while.”

Another large-caliber bullet tore through the last piece of glass in the van.

The MI5 man crawled closer to Raab’s ear. “If we don’t get out of here we’re all dead.”

The loudest noise any of them had ever heard sent everyone at the farm onto their bellies, hands to ears. It was the sound of a million screams.

Three RAF F–35C Lightning IIs roared overhead a mere two hundred yards off the ground. They had approached at Mach 1.2 from the Stainmore Gap and plunged south directly over the twin fells of Nine Standards Rigg and High Seat.

In the sliver of a second of airtime spent over the farm, the lead plane had taken a hundred infrared and thermal ultrahigh-speed photos of the ground activity, and as the planes banked for a second pass, the images were already on command screens at their base at RAF Boulmer, Northumberland and at the Ministry of Defense in London.

Group Captain Mike Rogers at RAF Boulmer was on hands-free with the MOD in Whitehall. The Chief of the Defense Staff, General Sir Robert Sandage, stood over his imaging techs shoulder to shoulder with the Minister of Defense, George Cotting.

“I see perhaps a dozen hostiles on 337,” Rogers said, referring to the ID number of one wide-angle thermal image.

“I agree, yes,” Sandage replied. “They were dropped there somehow. Have you got anything on that?”

“Hang on, sir,” Rogers said. “We received a block of images in a burst.” At Whitehall, the line went quiet for a few seconds until Rogers came back on excitedly, “Look at Image 732!”

A tech in Whitehall called up the photo. It showed a helicopter hovering off the slope of High Seat fell.

“Whose is it?” Minister Cotting asked.

“We won’t see any markings from an overhead view,” Sandage said. “Run it through our database, would you, Major,” he calmly asked the tech.

The technician swiped his trackpad and called up an image-recognition program, which took seconds to find a match with one-hundred-percent probability. He projected it on the screen: the chopper was a stealth Mi–23/180.

Minister Cotting was the first to react verbally. “My God! Get me the Prime Minister.”

T
he black-clad ground troops moved methodically down the fell toward the farmhouse, untouched by the random SWAT team fire and seemingly unperturbed by the RAF flyover. Two men who were ahead of the pack veered off toward the barn. They crept up to it and found the main door unlocked. One of them rolled it open just enough to enter and the other followed, his hand on the lead’s shoulder.

“Shoot!” Kheelan shouted at his nephew Douglas from behind a bale of hay.

Shotgun blasts shredded the intruders and peppered the barn door with holes.

Kheelan pumped another shell into the chamber and cautiously approached the bloody men.

“I never shot no one before,” his young nephew said, shivering.

“Watch th’ side door,” Kheelan said, ignoring the lad’s feelings.

He pushed his boot under one of the prone bodies. With a grunt he flipped it over and shined his torch on it.

He blinked a few times at what he saw, but all he managed to say was, “Fuckin’ hell!”

T
he Defense Minister stepped back to the command console, decidedly paler in complexion.

“What did the P.M. say?” General Sandage asked.

“He told us to engage.” From the bewildered expression on Cotting’s face, it was evident he hardly believed what was coming out of his own mouth. “How long will it take to get the SAS in there?”

“Too long,” Sandage said. “The 22 SAS Regiment is at Credenhill in Hereford. I’m all for sending them, but we can get 1 Lancs there faster. They’re in Yorkshire. In the meanwhile, I suggest we let the Lightnings have a go.”

Right after the Lightnings made a second pass over the farm, the squadron leader received an order on his headset from RAF Boulmer.

“This is Group Captain Rogers. I am ordering you to immediately engage and destroy the hostiles.”

The squadron leader banked left and with a catch in his voice asked Rogers to repeat the order.

When the order was confirmed, the pilot advised his wingmen to arm their weapons systems and assume attack mode.

K
enney was watching the aerial display through his scope and called out to his men, “They’re coming around again.”

There were a series of
booms
from 40mm cannon fire immediately followed by a huge thunderclap and bright explosion midway up the fell as the helicopter burst into flames and pitched into the hillside.

“This is unbelievable,” Kenney called out. “We’ve got a goddamn war going on!”

T
he Lightnings pursued the ground troops with machine-gun fire and each time a shower of tracers slammed into the ground the crouching police let out a collective cheer.

Nancy was too engrossed in the aerial display to feel the cold and wet from the ground seeping through her clothes. Greg started to rise to his feet to get a better look but she pushed him back down.

“Just pray they think we’re the good guys,” she shouted to Greg. “Otherwise, we’re going to get lit up.”

With every pass of the Lightnings, the invaders made an effort to train small-arms fire against them but the jets streaked by far too quickly. The air-to-ground assault froze the troops in their positions about a hundred yards from the farmhouse and there the battle stood for twenty minutes or more when a new sound was heard over Mallerstang, the persistent thump of rotor blades.

Five AW159 Wildcat Lynx helicopters emblazoned with Union Jacks swooped out of the gloam and landed on the road beside the police positions.

A full company of 1 Lancs of the First Battalion, the Duke of Lancaster’s Regiment, flooded the field of battle. The British Army regulars stormed the perimeter of the farm, effecting a pincer movement to the north and south. They methodically encircled the remaining special ops troops and fifteen minutes later, the last of the black-clad intruders was dead.

During the firefight stray rounds whistled over Nancy’s and Greg’s heads but a minute after the last shots were fired, she rose to her knees to assess the situation.

It was clear to her that the British forces had succeeded in the operation—against whom was the
question. In the chaos of the battle’s aftermath, as men were shouting for medics and the police were using bullhorns to warn the soldiers away from the farm buildings, Nancy decided to make her move. It was almost 6
P.M.
but she still had her own mission to accomplish.

“Come on, Greg, let’s go. I think we can make it.”

She literally pulled him off the ground by his sleeve and tugged him through the dark field. Everyone was focused on the battleground and no one seemed to notice two civilians making a dash to an unassuming stone building a good distance from the farmhouse.

With fifty yards to go, Nancy tripped on something and went down hard. Greg helped her up, but looking back, she saw what had wrong-footed her, a piece of smoldering wreckage from the destroyed helicopter.

There was some kind of writing on it. In the dark, she couldn’t be sure but she asked Greg, a proud polyglot, if he could make it out. He stooped over it, scared to touch the charred piece of metal.

“Can you read it?” she asked.

“It’s Chinese!” he said. Then, with a voice bubbling with fear, he told her, “It says People’s Liberation Army.”

K
enney was scanning the battlefield with his
night scope, sweeping from one hot spot to another, giving a running commentary to Lopez and Harper while simultaneously listening to intercepted traffic on the police and SWAT team’s radio transmissions.

“Man alive, the army’s just beaten the tar out of the guys in the helicopter. It’s the power of numbers, boys. The Spartans may have been kick-ass fighters, but eventually the three hundred got reduced to zero by the Persians.”

He paused to listen to a relay between a SWAT commander and Incident Control.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Harper told his men. “They’ve just IDed two of the corpses. They’re PLA!”

“Palestinians?” Harper asked.

“No, you dumb shit! Not PLO. They’re Chinese!”

“What do the Chinese want here?” Lopez asked.

“It ain’t the Moo Shi Pork. It’s the damned Library. Looks like they know it’s here and looks like they’re trying to get ahold of it. I’ve got to call Groom Lake.”

Just then, something to the north of the farmhouse caught his attention. Two solitary figures were
making their way to a small stone building on the periphery of the farm. He zoomed in. No uniforms. Civilians.

“Hey, Harper, see if Davis has his mobile turned on.”

Harper started tapping on his tablet.

“Yeah, it’s on.”

“Put it on a map.”

Harper followed the order and handed the device to Kenney.

The blinking yellow dot was approaching Lightburn Farm.

“Hello, Greg,” Kenney said, looking through his scope. “Nice to meet you, you son of a bitch. Now who’s your little friend?”

T
he wait was agonizing.

Even though the sounds were dampened, there was no mistaking that all hell was breaking loose above their heads. At each burst of gunfire Will gritted his teeth and pulled at his handcuff. What he hated most was his inability to shield Phillip. A father’s job was to protect his son and he hadn’t done that, had he? And even in the best of times, what kind of father had he been? The kind who spends his time living on his boat while his family fends for itself in another state. He was mad at himself but this wasn’t the time for self-analysis.

Instead, he was brimming with questions.

Where was Cacia?

Was the house under attack?

Had she been killed or wounded?

It was six o’clock. If Greg had made it to Pinn had he been able to navigate the mayhem and get to the meeting point?

The door to their detention room creaked open.

She was there, tears in her eyes.

Will said, “Cacia.”

“It’s horrible.” She could hardly stand.

Annie and Phillip seemed stricken by her agonized look.

“So many dead,” she said. “Why?”

“Who’s dead?” Will asked. “Tell me what’s happening.”

“Some men came off th’ fell firing at t’ police and killing ’em. The police fired back. Then airplanes came and fired ont’ th’ fells. Then British Army men came by helicopter and killed all th’ men up on the fell. Kheelan and Douglas killed two of ’em in the barn. So much killin’! Why?”

“Undo my cuff,” Will said softly.

When she did so, he rose and held her tightly, letting her cry into his shoulder. Annie chose to look at the floor.

“Who were the men on the fells?” he asked.

“I don’t know, I don’t know.”

“All right, Cacia, here’s what we need to do. The fellow I told you about, the one who can help us—I don’t know if he was able to make it here, but we’ve got to see. Unchain Phillip and Annie and let’s go there.”

She stepped back and wiped her face with her palms. “Daniel and Kheelan are in a lather. There’s no telling what they’ll do. If they come down ‘ere and find everyone missin’, I don’t know what’ll happen.” She pointed at Phillip and Annie. “It’s safer for th’ two of you to stay put. I’ll take you to the stairs, Will. We’ll see if your man’s here, but so ‘elp me, if this was a trick t’ let th’ police in …” She took a pistol from a deep pocket in her sweater. It was old and small, a relic of the Second World War.

“It’s not a trick.”

She put the pistol back. “Okay then, let’s go.”

Will winked at Phillip for reassurance and followed her out. They climbed the stairs slowly, straining to hear if there was any sign of the police or the army on the other side of the trapdoor. It was quiet. At the top of the stairs, Will gripped the latch, turned it, and pushed against the hatch.

It lifted a few inches.

It was dark but he saw a pair of tasseled loafers a few feet away. Greg’s usual style.

Will threw open the hatch, letting it fall fully open on its hinges and climbed to the third from last step, high enough for his torso to be above floor level.

It
was
Greg, blinking at him in the dark.

“Is he there?” Cacia called out a few steps behind.

Will ignored her. “Greg, my man! You made it!”

Before Greg could answer, Will saw someone standing behind him. He tensed. Then he saw her.

Nancy stepped into the clear and ran to him, dropping to her knees and kissing him.

“Who the hell’s there?” Cacia called out angrily. “Tell me! I’m going t’ shoot!”

Caught between a woman with a gun and a wife who’d been far from his mind, Will was momentarily lost for words.

“It’s okay, Cacia. It’s Greg and my wife.”

“Let me through,” Cacia said.

He climbed into the hangar and let Cacia come up behind him.

Nancy looked like she wanted to pounce on Cacia’s weapon but Will talked her down.

“Nancy, take it easy,” he said. “Let’s go see Phillip, all right? We need to have a good talk about things.” Then he addressed Greg. “Jesus, Greg, I told you not to tell Nancy. I mean I’m happy to see you Nancy, but
I didn’t want any complications. This is complicated enough.”

“The FBI doesn’t know, Will,” she said. “I’m here on my own. And Greg didn’t tell me. I found out.”

Will was bewildered. He turned to Cacia, staring at her shaking gun hand. “It’s not exactly what I promised you but it doesn’t change anything. Nancy can help. She’ll help us make our case.” He looked out into the black night. “Let’s go back down the stairs quick and get to work before someone see us. Someone launched an assault. Someone’s already trying to take the Library away from you.”

“Who?” Cacia asked. “Who was it? The British government?”

“No,” Nancy said. “The British Army fought them off. It was the Chinese.”

“The Chinese?” Will said, stringing together a bunch of epithets. “How the hell did
they
get involved?”

“I don’t know,” Nancy said, “but I’m sure a lot of people are scrambling like crazy for the answer.”

Will turned to Cacia and begged her to put the gun away. She shook her head sadly and started down the stairs, saying, “Come on then, but there’ll be hell t’ pay when Daniel finds out. Last one down’s got t’ close th’ hatch.”

As they descended underground and entered the storeroom, Will took Nancy’s hand and squeezed it hard.

“Is Phillip okay?” she whispered.

“He’s fine,” he said. “If I were alone, I’d have risked busting out of here. But with him …”

“Thank God you didn’t,” she said. “What is this place?”

“There’s so much to tell you. Let’s just start with Phillip.”

Greg was already taking pictures of the stocked shelves of the storeroom with his NetPen. Cacia saw the flashes and was about to protest when Will said, “He needs to take photos, Cacia. It’s part of the plan, remember?”

She kept quiet and proceeded to the far end of the room.

“Who is she?” Nancy whispered.

“The mother of the girl who persuaded Phillip to come here.”

“She seems to do everything you say,” Nancy said.

Will chose his words carefully. “I’ve gotten her to understand our interests are aligned.”

Nancy smiled at that. “I’m sure you have.”

They entered the dormitory.

Greg seemed to understand the purpose of the cots because he immediately began to shoot pictures of them.

“Good,” Will said. “Get a wide shot of them.”

Nancy understood too. “Christ, Will, you’re not saying this is an active operation, are you?”

“It is. Completely active.”

“Where are they?” Greg asked.

“Close by. You’ll see them soon.”

There was a glow coming from the top of the partitioned room. Nancy seemed to sense her son was there because she ran ahead of Will and despite Cacia’s protests, flung open the door.

Before he got there, Will heard, “Mom!” then he heard Nancy crying with relief and anger at the sight of her son, dirty and chained to a bed.

Will, Greg, and Cacia joined them in the small room.

“Undo his handcuff!” Nancy demanded. She was sitting beside the boy, hugging him. For his part, Phillip seemed embarrassed but happy to see her.

“Was that the FBI doing all the shooting up there?” Phillip asked.

“No, sweetheart,” she said. “I’m here as a civilian.”

Phillip saw Greg behind his parents. “Uncle Greg?”

“Hey, Phillip,” Greg said. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Nancy repeated her demand that Phillip be unchained and Will gently made the same plea. “We’re beyond that now, Cacia. Undo his cuff.”

As Cacia knelt to unlock the handcuff another voice said, “What about me?”

Annie had been virtually invisible during the reunion but Nancy saw her in the corner bunk and asked, “Who the hell are you?”

“Annie Locke, with the Security Services. I’m very pleased to meet you, Assistant Director. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Nancy looked at her, then Cacia and smirked at both attractive women. “You’ve had a lot of help, haven’t you, Will?”

Will nodded sheepishly. “Annie, if Cacia frees you up, will you promise not to run off or make trouble?”

Annie pointed to her leg wounds. “I don’t think I’ll be sprinting away. I promise.”

Cacia sighed and unlocked her too.

“Thank you, Cacia,” Will said. “Now we’ve got to get Greg into the Library for pictures. You feeling like a journalist again, Greg?” Will asked.

“I’ve always been a journalist,” Greg said.

“Sorry. Didn’t come out right,” Will said. “But this is going to be a helluva story, and it’s going to be yours to tell. And let me promise you something. When it’s time to write a book about this, it’s going to be you writing it, not me.”

Greg looked at the ground avoiding eye contact and nodded.

Just then, they all heard a young man calling out, “Ma? You down here?” and Andrew came into the room. He was brandishing a shotgun. He looked around with a look of high confusion and alarm, turned tail, and ran away with Cacia calling after him to come back.

M
r. President, I have Prime Minister Hastings on the line.”

Midnight was approaching in Washington. President Dumont was in the White House Situation Room, casually dressed, surrounded by his National Security team. He thanked the operator and when he heard the click of her signing off, threw the call onto the speaker, and said, “Martin, we’ve been monitoring the attack in Yorkshire and your response. What can you tell me?”

The Prime Minister was clearly stressed, his voice a quarter of an octave higher than usual. “I was going to call you in a few minutes, John. Just sorting through all this with my Defense staff. But I can say unequivocally that all the intruders were killed. One of their commandos was given the opportunity of surrendering but he shot himself.”

“My folks are telling me it was the Forty-second GA out of Guangzhou,” the President said. “It’s their best special ops unit, like your SAS and our Seals. Apparently they call themselves the Sharp Sword of Southern China.”

“Well, we have absolutely no idea why China would take this historic and unprecedented step, an act of war aimed at a bloody farm in Cumbria, for God’s sake! I’ve got the Chinese ambassador waiting for me downstairs, and he’d better have an explanation! The area is
remote and the immediate environs were cordoned off due to an ongoing police action involving hostages but the media are starting to get wind of it and we don’t think we can keep a ring around it for very long. The British public will demand a harsh response.”

The President shook his head at his staff and rolled his eyes. “Martin, you’re not going to be declaring war on China, for Christ’s sake. We’ve got to pursue this through diplomatic channels.”

“It’s well and good for you to say that, Mr. President,” the Prime Minister said, getting formal, “but if the shoe were on the other foot, imagine how the American public would react. Let me repeat, this was an act of war!” One of Hastings’s advisors must have urged him to tone it down because he immediately followed up with, “Look, John. The first thing we need to do is find out what in God’s name their intent was. Then we can calibrate our response.”

The President rocked back on his padded swivel chair. “Well, Martin. We might be able to help you with that. We know exactly what the Chinese want with that farm of yours.”

D
aniel and Kheelan barreled into the small room with fire in their eyes, waving their weapons and shouting.

Will raised his hands, and said, “Easy, Daniel. Everything’s all right. This is my son-in-law, Greg, and my wife, Nancy. They’re here to help you. Believe me.”

“Don’t you tell me t’ go easy, mister!” Daniel bellowed. “We’ve got a war going on outside and we’ve got people coming into my home like it was a public way. Are you behind this, Cacia?”

She nodded, but replied steadily, “You’ve got t’
listen t’ Will, Daniel. We can’t survive this on our own. Not now.”

“You women’ll be the death of me!” he shouted. “You and Haven’ve brought ruin upon us.”

“It was meant t’ happen,” she said firmly. “You know that better than anyone. The names of all th’ men who died out there this evening—all of them are written in one of th’ books.”

When Daniel’s face softened with sadness, Kheelan took up the cudgel.

“Let’s not forget that we’re holding th’ good cards, Danny,” he said. “We’ve got hostages, and now we’ve got two more. They’re not gonna fuck with us while we’ve got hostages.”

Will jumped in. “Hostages are meaningless. You’re meaningless. The stakes are too high. We’re all just flies who’re going to be swatted away. I hate saying this in front of my family but unless we take control of this situation we’re either going to be dead—which isn’t something we can change—or we’re going to be locked away in some damn hole so we can’t tell the world what’s been happening here.”