The HMS Vengeance looked every bit as deadly as Tony had imagined. The vessel was almost as gray as the water under the floodlights, and the two side fins and conning tower at the top gave it the look of a sleek, mechanical shark—an implacable, imperturbable machine with no imperative other than to kill. He brushed his fingers against the cold metal of the missile as it slid past on the way to be loaded. The accelerated timescale meant Glen’s boys only had time to get one ready. One would be all they needed. He closed his eyes and imagined the multiple warheads inside, sloshing with blood. If he ever did have to give the order, this huge metal phallus would spurt its infected load over Paris. He tried to picture how it would be: blood raining onto upturned faces, hands stiffening into claws, shrieks and yells echoing through the streets, people trampling each other as they tried to flee. He could put no faces to these virtual Parisians; he could only see Margot and Vanessa down in the bunker, clinging to each other and waiting for the end.
He could also clearly picture the people who would die in Britain. He’d seen thousands of them streaming along the side of the road as he and Glen drove to the airfield to catch a helicopter up to Faslane that morning. These were the skeptics—those smart enough not to believe a word that came out of a politician’s mouth and perceptive enough to see his speech for the gargantuan fib it was. They weren’t so smart as to travel light, mind you. Half of them were sweating from the effort of dragging wheeled suitcases or pushing shopping trollies full of all kinds of unnecessary household crap. One individual was even carrying a flat-screen TV on his back. Perhaps he hoped to continue its use as a shield against real life and deflect any bombs that may drop on his head. They were all heading out of London, no doubt hoping to hide out in the countryside when the cleansing began.
He again told himself it wouldn’t come to that. Now the missile was on board, all that remained were final checks and provisioning. Soon the sub would be ready to slip under water and head out into the open sea. Then he could call Piers and they would all be safe. He could only hope the bombers weren’t already on their way. The next meeting of the UN Security Council, directly after which the attack had been due to take place, was set for four days from now. With luck, they weren’t ready yet. They’d only had one day to react to Lesley’s story and would have to rethink as well as accelerate their plan.
He left the submariners to their final preparations and returned to his quarters, where he picked up the satphone and called Margot.
“Where are you?” she said.
“I can’t tell you. How’s Vanessa?”
“Terrified. She overheard some of the security guys talking about that journalist’s story. She thinks we’re all going to die.”
“Put her on.”
Vanessa’s voice came on the line, small and trembling. He could almost see her, clutching her Peppa Pig doll with one hand and the phone with other.
“Mummy says you’re scared.”
“The men said they’re going to drop big bombs on us.”
The abject terror in her voice made him want to cry and beat the living shit out of Piers, the embodiment of the cause of her fear, at the same time. Nonetheless, he faked his best cheery, confident voice. “Those men are silly big fibbers.”
“They are?”
“Yes. They work for the government. Everyone who works for the government has to pass a lying test to get the job. If they’re caught telling the truth, they get fired into space to go live on the moon.”
“Why do they have to be good at lying, Daddy?”
Realizing he’d opened a can of worms and that Vanessa, now at least distracted, would keep asking him questions he didn’t want to answer, he changed tack. “Just because. Anyway, are you sure they said ‘big bombs’? I think they must have said ‘big bums.’ Now wouldn’t that be funny?”
Vanessa giggled. “Yes.” She paused for a minute, and he could almost hear her little brain whirring. “Who would clean up all the poo poo?”
Tony laughed. “I don’t know, darling. Just know that Daddy won’t let anything bad happen to you. Ever.”
“Cross your heart and hope to die?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die. Can you give the phone back to Mummy, please?”
“Okay,” she said, back to being a carefree four-year-old just like that. God, how he envied that ability to bounce back.
Margot came back on the phone. “What were you telling our child? She’s run off to get a brush and pan to ‘clean up the poo poo from the big bums’.”
“I may have got a bit carried away. But she’s fine now, isn’t she?”
“Yes, she is. Thank you. I’m not, though.”
“You don’t need to worry, love. It isn’t going to happen.”
“Don’t soft-soap me, Tony. It’s real, isn’t it?”
“Yes. But in a few hours it won’t matter how many bombs and guns they assemble. They won’t be able to touch us.”
“Why? What are you up to?”
“I can’t tell you. You just have to believe me when I say all this fear ends tonight. Tomorrow I’ll be home, and we’ll be able to start building a future. A real future.”
Margot’s breathing grew thick and heavy. He thought she didn’t believe him and expected her to begin sobbing. What she said next came as something of a surprise. “Thank God. Because I’m bloody horny. We haven’t had S-E-X in days.”
“What’s sex, Mummy?” he heard Vanessa shout.
“Bloody precocious child,” Margot muttered, before saying, “Go watch television, love. I need to talk to Daddy privately.” He heard footsteps, the brief blare of cartoons, and finally the click of a lock. “I’m in the toilet. We’re having phone sex.”
“Seriously?” Tony said. “You do know I’m trying to save Britain right now, right?”
“Oooh, a hero. That just makes me wetter.”
Tony looked out of window. Dozens of men were ferrying boxes and crates onto the submarine under the floodlights. In a few hours he would be able to keep the promise he’d made to his wife and daughter. Until then, all he could do was wait and worry. There was still a chance he could die. If the bombers were coming and got here before the missile was ready, Faslane would be the first to go. With that possibility in mind, he knew he should be saying a poignant farewell just in case, although Margot clearly was not in the right frame of mind. He gave it a go anyway.
“You and Vanessa mean more to me than life itself,” he said. “I love you so much that it hurts deep down in my bones when I think of anything happening to you.”
“Great. I love you, too,” Margot said. “Hear that? That’s the sound of my hand running up my stockinged thigh. Guess where it’s going? Now come on, unzip that fly. It’ll only take a few minutes. Then you can go back to saving us.”
Then again, he thought as the whisper of his cock stirring against his boxers answered the whisper of fingers on silk, nothing says “I love you” like filthy phone sex.
“I have no idea,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me? In great detail.”
He forgot that he held the lives of millions in his hands, for those hands were soon full of something else. Margot was right. It did only take a few minutes.