The Pillared Room at Ten Downing Street certainly lived up to its grand name. A glittering chandelier dangled from the ceiling, a decorative fireplace spoke of hushed late-night discussions before the hypnotic crackle of flames, ornate gold-legged chairs and sofas with plush upholstery dotted the shining floor, and the gold pillars after which the room was named stretched upward in the corners. So many great leaders had cloistered themselves away in here, making decisions that would affect the lives of millions. Tony knew he wouldn’t go down in history as one of those men and women. Considering he would soon threaten to spunk off a missile filled with infected blood, he was more likely to fall into the Hitler, Khan, and Ming the Merciless camp after all. He may as well have kept the moustache.
After his trip through London and a spectacular hour spent with Margot while Vanessa was dumped in front of the television, he again asked himself how far he would be prepared to go to protect those he loved and those he led. God knows he didn’t want to fire the missile, but what if it really was the only option? He dropped his head and drew in a deep breath. His nostrils filled with the scent of Margot, still clinging to his skin after their snatched lovemaking. He nodded softly. Nobody could ever be sure in a hypothetical situation, but he believed he could do it. He’d told Archangel it was wrong, but he was pretty sure he could justify it to himself. Archangel wanted the virus out there to kill people. If Tony fired the missile it would be to save lives. It wasn’t as if it hadn’t been done before. The bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki were let loose in the name of ending the war early and thus preserving life. He shifted in his chair, trying not to dwell on the counterargument that the equation would be skewed the wrong way this time: more people would die than would be saved. It all came back to a more important equation: how many strangers’ deaths was the life of a loved one worth? He thought of Amira quoting Stalin and got his answer. The death of his wife and daughter would be a tragedy; everybody else, no matter how many, was just a statistic.
He slapped his cheeks and got to his feet. It wouldn’t come to that. He was about to set off to his working room, ready to start the day properly three hours later than scheduled, when Frank burst into the room. His face told Tony bad news was on the way. “Christ, what now?”
“Two things. While Archangel was making us look like country bumpkins this morning, heavily armed men on quad bikes came bursting out of a crate that was supposed to contain sacks of rice at an aid delivery site in Glasgow. They shot dead three soldiers and disappeared. We weren’t able to track them.”
Tony steepled his fingers, pressing them together so hard his fingernails whitened. “And the next thing?”
“A helicopter was spotted coming in over the east coast of Scotland around six a.m. We don’t know what it was doing, and we didn’t have any assets in the area to shoot it down. It could’ve been dropping somebody, or something, off.”
“What do you think it means?”
“I think they’ve inserted some teams to carry out a mission.”
“Do you think they know about the missile?”
“Glasgow is in the right geographical area, I suppose, but it’s unlikely.”
“Really? Somebody told Archangel we were coming. Why wouldn’t somebody else grass us up about the missile?”
“Doesn’t make sense. Whoever told them would be putting themselves in the shit as well considering what the response would be. They’re more likely advance scouting missions to identify targets for a wider attack. We’re trying to find out if there were other incidents. So far we haven’t been able to identify any suspect activity, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened.”
Tony picked up his phone and got his secretary. “Get me Piers.”
“It’s the middle of the night there.”
“I don’t care. Wake him up.”
While he waited for Piers to get on the line, Tony pulled out his picture of Spock and told himself repeatedly it was his reflection. It didn’t work.
After five minutes, his secretary put him through to Piers, who said, “Hello, Tony. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure at such an ungodly hour?”
“Worried that I disturbed your beauty sleep? Well, don’t fret, petal. You’d still be an ugly sod even if you slept for the next five hundred years.”
“You’re hostile tonight.”
“I’m hostile? What the hell are you playing at?”
“If you must know, I was playing strip poker with Margaret Thatcher and Helen Mirren. In my dreams, I might add. So you can perhaps understand why I’m feeling a little confused. Can you tell me exactly why you’re calling?”
“At least two armed units were dropped onto our territory today, one of them carried in an official UN aid consignment. I want to know what they’re up to.”
Piers’s voice, which had been fuzzy with sleep, snapped into focus. “Firstly, Tony, it’s actually still our territory. We are the elected government.”
“And look what you did with it.”
“Labour would have been different? Politics only count during campaigning. Governments are governments, Tony.”
“Stop trying to dodge my question. What fuckery are you cooking up?”
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. We’re continuing to respect the current détente and have no intention of changing our position.”
“Then who are these guys? Extreme tourists?”
“Let me assure you that if what you say is true, it’s nothing to do with us.”
There was that word “assure” again, indicating that Piers was lying through his perfectly formed, attempted-wife-stealing teeth. “We’re going to find these people. And we’re going to interrogate them. If we find out this is part of preparations for a strike or invasion, you’ll suffer the consequences.”
Piers’s voice took on a worried edge. “Hold on a minute, Tony. Are you suggesting you’ll fire your nuclear weapons?”
Tony felt a near overwhelming desire to tell Piers about the viral weapon but kept himself in check. If they didn’t already know, he couldn’t afford to alert them to its existence before it was ready and give them a chance to destroy it. “I’m suggesting that any action, even the faintest whiff of an action, will be met with a commensurate response.” Tony paused. The formal language of Ferrero Rocher–eating diplomats didn’t quite convey how strongly he felt, so he rephrased his threat. “The moment I see a bomber, even a seagull that looks a bit like a bomber from a distance, some very large nuclear missiles will be fizzing your way. The first one has the coordinates of your hotel plugged into its computer.”
“Think about what you’re saying here. This is exactly the kind of talk that makes people nervous enough to consider the military option. Threatening us doesn’t help.”
“You’re trying to blame us for this? You’re the ones who’ve been talking about obliterating my country.”
“If you weren’t so aggressive and quick to wave your nuclear response around like a big stick there wouldn’t be as much talk.”
“We’re being defensive, not aggressive.”
“All I’m trying to say is that we should keep our heads.”
“I am trying to keep my head. Attached to my bloody body. You and your generals should do the same.”
Tony slammed the phone down and got up to pace the room. He picked up a lamp and dashed it into the fireplace, fragments of china pattering back out onto the floor. He stood for a long time, head resting on the mantelpiece and conjuring up Spock, before he was calm enough to turn back to Frank.
“They’re really going to do it,” he said.
“It’s beginning to look that way.”
Tony stirred the broken lamp with his foot. All of the morning’s optimism faded in the face of the spurt of anger he’d been unable to contain. He was like one of those fragments, being swept along by far larger forces. Apart from the missile, all he had to hold on to was Tim Roast and his citizen brain surgery. He just hoped the deterrent would be ready in time, and that it would serve its purpose.
“There is one bit of good news,” Frank said. “We’ve found out where this antivirus group is based.”
There seemed little point in engaging the group at this stage in the game. If they got the missile ready and it served to hold off the attack on Britain, he could think about it. Then again, making the film Amira suggested would keep her out of his hair for a few days. Her constant attempts to talk him out of firing the missile were getting on his tits.
“I’ll send Amira up to make the film,” Tony said.
Frank’s face fell. “Can’t she just send up a camera crew?”
The anger Spock had just suppressed threatened to come back. Here they were in a race against time to save themselves, and all Frank could think about was the sex he wouldn’t be having. Perhaps this epidemic of horniness wasn’t such a good thing after all. “For God’s sake, Frank, it’ll only be a day or two. You’ve got hands. I’m sure you can manage by yourself until she gets back.”
“That’s like asking a forty-a-day smoker to chew Nicorette. The things that woman can do…”
“No details,” Tony said. “She’s going. And find these incursion teams. We need to know what they’re up to.”
As Frank huffed out of the room, other benefits of sending Amira occurred to Tony. Yes, these incidents were a bad sign, but a propaganda video could serve a purpose. With luck, Piers’s paymasters would take the continuation of a PR offensive as a sign that BRIT had no other options. They’d find out how wrong they were soon enough.