The sun was glorious and flooding the skies with its warm, yellow embrace as the Merlin Mk 2 helicopter skimmed above the thick layers of cloud. By the direction they’d been heading in for well over an hour Munroe knew roughly where they were, but their intended destination was still a mystery. Above the roar of the engines, which had hardly slowed since taking off, he leant forward towards Captain Sloan and spoke into the microphone of the headphone he’d been given shortly after take-off. “So, Jax, are you going to tell me where we’re going or just keep me in suspense?”
It was the second time he’d asked after giving her a debrief on Kessler and his run-in with Daedalus. The first had ended with Sloan simply lifting a finger to her lips and, judging by the blank stare he received now, her discretion wasn’t about to end any time soon.
“You’re not much for small talk, are you, Captain?”
Jax pushed her own headset mic closer to her lips. “You’ve got a big mouth, Ethan.”
Munroe smiled. At least she was talking. “So have you, when it suits you.”
“Well it doesn’t suit me now, so do us both a favour and shut up.”
Munroe still hadn’t decided whether Sloan was acting tough or was just cold as ice, and he now probed playfully. “You know we’re on the same side, right?”
Sloan’s unyielding stare continued and she sat back further in her seat. “That’s still to be determined.”
Her response was hardly unexpected. She was a woman in a man’s army, and to thrive one needed to meet the bar, though to be fair that was the same whatever sex you were. The attitude in the military was one crafted from centuries of experience and centred around the need to follow orders and give no leeway. To be and act as tough as your teammates and hold that standard for the good of everyone. The group mentality needed no weak link in the chain. For special forces, a bit more free thought was welcomed – no, expected – but as he looked over at Sloan he couldn’t quite gauge what side of the fence she landed on.
From the cockpit, one of the pilots reached back and tapped Sloan on the shoulder. He raised his index finger in the air and then clasped his hand into a fist.
“Your suspense is over, Ethan.” The helicopter began to descend through the clouds, turning the view outside a foggy white, until moments later they broke through the bottom and down towards the foamy crests lapping across the dark blue waves below.
The seas were rough today, and as Munroe pulled himself closer to the window for a better look her got his answer.
HMS Queen Elizabeth sat proudly atop the waves like a shining monolith of grey steel. As the Merlin helicopter closed in on her, Munroe could already make out the row of F-35 Lightning II combat stealth jets lining the top deck. The aircraft carrier was the flagship of the Royal Navy, and despite only recently being put into service it had already become a beacon for naval and national pride. Its size was second only to the Americans’ Nimitz-class aircraft carrier, the most impressive naval ship on the planet, but regardless she was a sight to behold and the two unique separate command centres, the forward housing the bridge and the aft responsible for air operations, made her stand out from most traditional carriers.
“The Queen Elizabeth. Never seen her up close,” Munroe remarked as Sloan glanced back at him.
“Well congratulations, because you’re going to see a lot more of her.”
The Merlin sank lower and as they approached the deck a ground crew with yellow hi-vis jackets and white helmets were already directing them to their landing spot.
Immediately after the Merlin gracefully landed it was lashed down. After the pilot was given an all-clear signal, the door was slid open by one of the Marines, and Munroe dropped his headset onto the seat and followed Sloan as she strode across the deck towards the towering command centre.
The upper deck was about 1,600 square feet and almost as long as three football fields. It had been a while since he’d found himself on an aircraft carrier and he stopped for a moment to inspect the row of F-35s. They were comparable only to the Americans’ F-22 Raptors, to which they were almost identical in shape, and as he sniffed the salt spray in the air a mild wave of euphoria ran though him. It felt good.
Back in the saddle, he thought, unable to prevent the smile that was now etched across his face. He’d forgotten how much he’d missed this. The energy and excitement of the unknown, and the danger that came with it.
“Munroe!”
He looked over to see Sloan beckoning him with a sharp flick of her arm. She stood beside a tall man in his fifties, dressed in a blue naval jumpsuit, at the base of the looming aft command tower.
Munroe allowed himself a final sniff of the sea air before heading over to join her, as the rotors of the Merlin helicopter behind him ground down to a halt.
“Captain Markham, this is my colleague, Ethan Munroe,” she announced as Munroe offered his hand, which was shook firmly by the captain.
“Welcome aboard the Elizabeth,” Markham greeted him courteously. “I hope your ride was enjoyable.”
“Long time since I flew in a Merlin. Appreciate the pickup,” Munroe replied, nodding in the direction of the helicopter as the ground crew began the task of folding back the rotors in preparation for the elevator trip to the lower deck.
“You’re welcome, Mr Munroe. But given that the whole country is on high alert, the government is in chaos, and we’ve been placed on a war footing, if you’ll forgive me for being blunt, I’d like to know what the hell my visitors’ business is when letting them aboard my ship. Especially at such short notice, and given the circumstances.”
“We understand, Captain, and considering the attack on Parliament I think we’re all on edge,” Sloan interjected with an understanding curtness that appeared to calm Captain Markham slightly. “As I’m sure you’re aware, the army has checkpoints all over London, and if my sources are correct what’s left of Parliament is about to issue a nationwide curfew. We certainly don’t want to add to your concerns or troubles, but the truth is we’re not exactly sure why we’re here either.”
Judging by the captain’s expression, it was clear he knew she was lying.
“Mmm. Really. I find that very hard to believe, but given the state of our national security at the moment, and the need now for cohesion, I suppose I have no option but to trust you, Captain Sloan. Very well, let’s get you down there.” With Sloan looking respectful, and Munroe behind her, they were quickly led into the command tower and deeper to the decks below.
“We were supposed to be setting a course for a NATO exercise in the South China Sea within the next few hours, but considering the terrorist attack at Westminster I’m unsure what our orders will be. The political chain of command is in a bad way and a breakdown in command means mistakes. Mistakes cost lives. Either way, I suspect yours will be a short visit unless you’re intending to travel with us.”
Captain Markham was doing his best to wheedle out any information about their visit, but Sloan kept her reply short.
“I doubt we’ll be here that long, sir.”
“Mmm,” The captain murmured again as he raised his hand towards an open area at the bottom of the steps. “No time for a tour, but that’s the galley, and the doors ahead take you to the main hangar.”
“Impressive aircraft up top, sir,” Munroe said, referring to the F-35 Lightning jets as Captain Markham guided them quickly down the next flight of metal steps.
“Hell of a fighter. We can hold thirty-six of them. Bloody shame we only bought twenty-one! That’s the government for you. What’s left of it anyway. Luckily there’s another thirty on order, but it means we’re travelling light at the moment.”
Sloan said nothing but Munroe snorted at his honesty. “The only thing you can count on in the military is not having what you really need.”
The comment brought a frustrated smile to the captain’s face. “Don’t I know it, son, today more than ever.”
The lower deck they arrived on was lined by a main corridor and Captain Markham pointed to a closed oval doorway opposite. “Mr Munroe, you’re in there, and Captain Sloan, you’re a bit further down.”
Sloan gave him a nod. “Catch you later,” she said, and without any further explanation headed down the galley with Captain Markham in the lead.
The chain of command for the military was as essential as breathing, and the captain’s assessment was absolutely correct. There had never been an attack like this before. Individual assassinations did and had occurred throughout history, but almost the entire political system in one shot! They were in uncharted waters, and as Munroe looked at the navy staff passing him by he saw an unease in their faces that he only now began to consider. With so much going on he’d hardly had time to truly appreciate the worldwide consequences, and a troubling feeling of uncertainty now ran through him as he stepped over to the doorway, turned the handle and let himself inside. The attack on Parliament was a game-changer, the UK’s own 9/11, and even more worrying was that he had the feeling it was just the beginning. He was still in the dark… That had to change, right now.
The briefing room could have held forty people, at a squeeze, with four lines of plastic seats all facing one way and bolted to the floor. The walls were metal grey with protruding bulkheads every few metres, with a number of maps and various instruction signs attached to them.
“Ethan. You made it.”
The deep, monotone voice was unmistakable and Munroe turned to see McCitrick with his arms folded, resting against a briefing table with a sixty-inch flat-screen monitor on the wall behind.
“Ahh, Boris,” Munroe said lightly. McCitrick only stared at him blankly and pointed to a seat in the front row.
“I think we’re past that, don’t you? Please, have a seat.”
Munroe didn’t move immediately, waiting for a few moments and leaving McCitrick’s hand hovering in the air before he finally walked over and sat down in the central front chair.
“Well, I agree we’re past it, but have we reached the point yet?”
“And what point would that be, Ethan?”
“The point where you tell me what the fuck is going on, McCitrick. You send me into that crazy old bastard’s house without so much as heads-up to the danger I was walking into… And then there’s Daedalus… John!”
McCitrick looked entirely unfazed. He unfolded his arms and rested them either side of the table edge. “Firstly, it’s McCitrick to you. Only old acquaintances and friends call me John, and we’re neither. Secondly, the point is that half of Her Majesty’s government has been wiped out in a single day, including the PM. COBRA is frantically attempting to ensure the continuity of a government for the whole of the nation, and it’s just a matter of time before politicians begin making power grabs for the top spot. It’s bloody chaos out there. But we can’t let the people know that.”
McCitrick now delivered a single jab with his finger in Munroe’s direction. “And you’re bitching about having to deal with some old man? Grow up, Ethan. This is a big boy’s game. I thought you knew that.”
The chew-out made no impact on Munroe and he jabbed his finger straight back towards McCitrick. “And it could have been a whole lot worse if I hadn’t got you the information on the bomb.”
“That’s the only reason you’re sitting here right now, and despite your whining – which, just so we’re clear, I’m not interested in hearing about again – I want to make you an offer.”
Munroe couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was a steely resolve and determination that resonated from the man, and that Munroe did respect. “OK, McCitrick. What’s the offer?”
McCitrick pushed himself off the table and picked up a silver TV remote from the side of the desk. “Usually I would never fast-track what I’m about to say, but given the bloody mess the country is in, and the weight being brought down on all of us, I’m making an exception. So screw the pleasantries and let’s get straight to the point. The offer is to join us at DS5 – but before you even consider it, there are some things you should be aware of, so pay careful attention. The information I disclose here and now is not only above top secret, but the men and women under my command are sworn to secrecy on pain of death. It sounds medieval but, and I shit you not, once the offer is accepted, then that’s it, you’re in for life or until you retire, and even then never a word can be spoken about what it is we do. Ever. We recruit only from those in the special forces, and even then their talents and skills must be of the highest calibre.”
McCitrick clicked the remote and the monitor lit up, showing footage from a colour CCTV camera of a man jumping from a balcony onto a car roof as someone above shot at him with a carbine. “I got this from our contact in France. Don’t worry, it’s the only copy.”
Munroe sat up in his seat and watched the CCTV footage that had been spliced together from road cameras, showing his escape from the Humvees and ending with him exiting his car and bringing Kessler’s Humvee to a crashing stop with only a few shots.
“Some might say that was a bloody foolish stunt,” McCitrick said, pausing on a frame showing Munroe still aiming his weapon at the upturned vehicle. “I say it was a calculated action backed by years of military training and a lot of guts. Quite a move, Ethan, although I’m betting it was mostly instinctual. Still, it’s a shame Kessler got away.” The footage now skipped ahead, to after Munroe had driven off. Another Humvee appeared at the crash and two men pulled Tobias Kessler from the wreckage before driving off.
Munroe remained silent, quietly enjoying the rare opportunity to watch his own handiwork as McCitrick tapped on the remote once more, bringing up CCTV footage from inside the restrooms back at Brest airport.
“If the French public knew there were hidden security cameras in public airport toilets there’d be an uproar. Unfortunately 9/11 changed all that.”
They both watched as his attackers were disarmed and subdued before Jax’s arrival and then the aftermath as each body was hidden within the cubicles before he paused it on a still of Munroe gouging out the tracker from his waist.
“Again, good work, and realising you had a tracker on you shows an aptitude for thinking outside the box, which are the qualities we look for in our operatives.” McCitrick fast-forwarded to another section of the tape showing Munroe standing over his bald attacker perched on the cubicle toilet with the ice pick in his hand and Jax at his side. “Why didn’t you kill him, Ethan? Why leave any witnesses?”
The question drew a raised eyebrow from Munroe and he considered it before replying. “What would have been the point? Daedalus already knew I was there, and there was no need to take the man’s life just for the sake of it.”
McCitrick eyed him judgingly before finally nodding, clearly satisfied by the answer. “DS5 operatives mostly work alone, and it’s not just their skills we rely on but their moral judgement out in the field, something you’ve shown you possess.”
Jax had been testing him back in the restroom. In the heat of things she’d given him the option to kill the man, leaving it up to him to make the final decision. Clever.
McCitrick’s little show was turning into an evaluation, and although he was keen to know what was on the end page of his speech, Munroe kept his mouth shut. Those dead at Parliament deserved that at least.
“We don’t accept walk-ins here, Ethan, we work on crossed paths, a bit of destiny if you will. You can’t climb the ladder to end up in DS5, you fall into it, and you have done just that. How’s your history, Captain?”
McCitrick’s reference to rank had Munroe siting up sitting up straighter on pure reflex and he bobbed his head. “Military or cultural?”
“Global.”
“Iraq or Korea?”
McCitrick gave a grim smile and he expelled a snort. “Oh, a bit further back than that. Do you know what the problem with world history is?”
“Yes,” Munroe said, crossing his legs and getting comfortable for the lecture he knew was coming, “it’s written by the winners.”
“Exactly. Winner takes all, including the truth.”
“Always been that way, always will.”
“Yes, and the winners teach it to their children. A few generations in and it’s gospel. I’m going to tell you a story. It’s about a boy who was born into a broken home and grew up with all the pathology that such an environment instils. Insecurity, mistrust, resentment. But this little boy was different. This little boy was also born with an absolute belief in himself and a determination that most never learn to harness. As he grew his resentment focused into courage, and only when his world collapsed around him did those feelings manifest into a sheer hatred of those who, as he saw it, had betrayed him. It was this burning desire for revenge and power over these people that propelled him onwards towards fulfilling those twisted aspirations, and he managed it too, much to the misery of those he hated.”
“It’s a lovely fairy tale, but if you are referring to me then you’re far off the mark. You should know, considering you have my entire history on hand. I’ve never had a desire for revenge or power,” Munroe said, even though he wasn’t entirely sure this Brothers Grimm story was directed at him. He watched as McCitrick’s eyes widened at the suggestion.
“This isn’t about you, Ethan, although your beginnings were vaguely similar. This is about a man becoming the very embodiment of the worst characteristics of humankind. The people he hated were not just a select few, but the world as a whole. It was a world he sought to change, and he came very close to pulling it off, too.”
Munroe almost let slip a laugh as he finally realised who they were talking about, but the seriousness in McCitrick’s expression restrained him. What the hell the man in question had to do with anything was a mystery. “Are we talking about… Adolf Hitler?”
McCitrick sat motionless on the edge of the table, his arms folded. “What would you say if I told you that the ‘Führer’ never died in his bunker underneath the war-torn streets of Berlin? What if I told you that he, and many of his high-ranking cronies, made it out alive and escaped justice?”
“I’d say you were crazy.”
A menacing smile crept across McCitrick’s face. “Then consider me admitted, because your view of world history is about to change… irrevocably.”