End Game, page 12
‘With the help of your police escort, the new kit should be with you in about twenty minutes,’ said the General. ‘I’ll head for the generator room to meet them.’
‘Do you know how long it will take to install it?’ asked William.
‘I haven’t a clue,’ replied the General.
William looked at the ticking clock. ‘Either way, I’ve only got another nineteen minutes. In your view, General, what’s the worst-case scenario?’
‘If there is a power failure and you have no back up generator, the stadium will be left in total darkness, and the least of your problems will be cancelling the opening ceremony. You’ll have eighty thousand panicking spectators inside the stadium who won’t know whether they’re experiencing a technical malfunction or a terrorist attack. Not to mention countless heads of state, ambassadors and other VIPs who will assume the worst.
‘Her Majesty will be left stranded in the Royal Box like a sitting duck, while one hundred and twenty-one VIPs, including several heads of state, will begin to panic and, once the news spreads, they will all be joined by eighty thousand spectators asking questions in one hundred and forty-seven different languages.’
‘And the best-case scenario?’ asked William.
‘The cyberattack will fail, the rogue circuit breakers will be removed and the generator will be fixed in time for you to get through the next two hours without any loss of power, in which case no one will be any the wiser.’
‘Given the circumstances, General, what would you recommend I should do?’
‘I’m a soldier and trained to always assume the worst-case scenario, Commander, so I don’t envy you your choice.’
‘Thank you,’ said William, suddenly aware where the buck stopped. He put the phone down and switched back to the radio. ‘Ross, stay put in the generator room with the engineer, while I prepare for the worst-case scenario.’
• • •
The Chinese Ambassador looked at his watch. ‘Sixteen minutes left before the lights go out.’
‘And by now my team should have eliminated any possibility of the power being restored,’ said Mikailov.
‘What do you plan to do when we are finally cast in darkness?’ asked Wei Ming, as he poured himself another glass of champagne.
‘Sit still and enjoy every moment,’ replied his Russian counterpart, ‘while watching panic set in all around me. I’ve even brought along a torch for the occasion, so a boy scout couldn’t accuse me of being unprepared.’
They both smiled.
‘Should I assume your press release has already been written?’
‘Yes, but embargoed until midnight,’ said Mikailov. ‘However, President Putin plans to address the nation first thing in the morning. He will open by offering his sincere condolences for the unfortunate disaster.’ He paused. ‘I spent some time considering the words calamity, failure and disaster, but finally settled on disaster, as it’s a word that’s easy to translate into any language.’
Wei Ming gave his colleague a slight bow, before he said, ‘My President will also be sending his heartfelt condolences, before going on to remind the world’s press that our own Beijing Games went without a hitch and our opening ceremony was hailed as one of the most memorable in Olympic history. Another carefully chosen word,’ said Wei Ming, ‘as I feel sure the same will be said about the London opening, with memorable having a completely different meaning.’ Wei Ming paused before he said, ‘How long before …?’
‘Twelve minutes,’ said the Russian Ambassador, as he checked his watch and uncorked a second bottle of champagne.
• • •
A message came through on William’s radio. ‘The police escort is pulling up outside the main entrance, along with two army technicians and a distribution box,’ confirmed Rebecca. ‘I’ll escort them to the generator room,’ she said. ‘We should be there shortly.’
‘How long do you think it will take them to get the generator back up and running?’ asked William.
‘Ten minutes at the most, sir,’ said a voice William didn’t recognize.
He watched the CCTV screen in front of him as two men transported the distribution box as quickly as they could towards the generator room at what seemed like a snail’s pace to William.
William checked his watch once again. ‘I’m down to seven minutes,’ he said, but they didn’t need to be reminded.
• • •
A billion eyes looked up into the sky as a single beam of light tracked a helicopter that was heading towards the stadium. On the vast screens, they all saw the door of the helicopter open. The Queen appeared, with Daniel Craig standing by her side. The crowd gasped when James Bond stood back to allow the Queen to jump out of the helicopter.
When her parachute opened moments later, most of the crowd clapped and cheered, while three spectators fainted. The cheering grew even louder as the parachute continued to make its way slowly down towards the centre of the stadium.
William had been among the few people who had known about the secret for weeks. He now nursed another secret the public weren’t aware of. But for how much longer?
Five minutes left.
A lightbulb in the Gold suite blew, and William’s heart missed a beat, but when he looked back at the screen, the stage remained bathed in light.
He could see the audience looking on in admiration as the performance began to unfold. William could only wonder if the exuberant crowd would ever see the eternal flame lit to officially declare the opening of the Thirtieth Olympiad.
Four minutes left.
As a precaution, he began to set in motion preparations for a worst-case scenario. He first radioed the protection team in the Royal Box.
‘Be ready to get HM out at a moment’s notice. Have her car up front, engine running. Understood?’
‘Understood, Commander,’ said a voice, not asking why.
Three minutes left.
William’s gaze rarely left the screen. He assumed that at any moment the stadium would be cast into darkness. His heart was pounding as he tried to decide what would be the best course of action. The Queen would have to be moved first, then the Prime Minister, followed by Michelle Obama and François Hollande, and the presidents of Germany and Italy, and finally the Mayor of London.
Two minutes left.
‘The distribution box is installed,’ said the General, ‘and all that’s left to do is attach the cables, which Sergeant Johnston tells me should only take a minute, possibly two.’
William wanted to say there’s a big difference between one minute and two, but simply held his breath.
Moments later, his heartrate doubled when Ross and the Sergeant disappeared from the screen and the stadium was thrown into total darkness for a second time.
His worst fears realized.
• • •
The Chinese Ambassador switched on his torch, refilled the two champagne glasses and raised his hand in a mock salute. ‘To the British Empire, on whom the sun never sets.’
‘God Save the Queen,’ said the Russian Ambassador, as their two glasses touched.
Around them, the audience sat quietly, patiently waiting, assuming the blackout was all part of the build-up before the main event.
‘How long before panic sets in,’ mused Wei Ling.
‘Not too long,’ suggested Mikailov. ‘In fact …’ but before he could finish his sentence, the lights came back on. The cheers that followed were deafening. The crowd clearly thought the temporary blackout was all part of the spectacle that was about to unfold.
• • •
‘Thank you,’ said William, but the General had already turned off his phone and left to rejoin his wife in the stand to enjoy the opening ceremony.
‘Such a clever idea to turn all the lights off and leave us in suspense,’ she said, as her husband sat back down beside her.
‘Very clever,’ agreed the General.
‘You nearly missed it.’
‘The queue for the lavatory was very long.’
• • •
In the hours that followed, over a billion people enjoyed Danny Boyle’s memorable production. The crowds, both in the stadium and at home, delighted to see Mr Bean accompanying the London Symphony Orchestra on the keyboard, laughed and cried at the heartfelt tribute to the NHS, and raised the roof when the eternal flame was lit by a group of seven young athletes.
When the curtain finally came down, and the Queen had departed, unaware of any problems, the dignitaries were escorted back to their coaches, while the boisterous, exuberant crowd made their way out of the stadium, some singing, others dancing all the way back home.
• • •
Once again, the two ambassadors sat next to each other on the coach as it made its way back into central London. The noisy chatter all around them rather suggested that the opening ceremony had been awarded a gold medal. It was some time before either of them spoke.
‘What do you think went wrong, Anatoly?’ the Chinese Ambassador eventually managed.
‘I have no idea,’ admitted Mikailov, ‘but I will have sent a report to my President long before he wakes in the morning. I will leave Mr Putin in no doubt that the failed Chinese cyberattack was to blame, while we carried out our part of the plan to the letter.’
‘I’m not sure he’ll be convinced about that, after Hu Jintao has read my report,’ said Wei Ming, annoyed by his colleague trying to pass on the blame.
‘Possibly not,’ admitted Mikailov. ‘However, I will also remind my President we still have a foolproof plan to switch the urine samples and ensure the Games will only be remembered for one thing.’
‘And should that fail, comrade,’ said Wei Ming disdainfully, ‘be assured when our pocket Exocet takes over, she will be more than a match for Warwick, or Faulkner for that matter.’
• • •
When no one was left in the stands and the lights in the stadium were finally switched off, William’s phone rang once again. He picked it up to hear General Norton on the other end of the line.
‘Well done, Commander. But if I may be allowed to offer you one piece of advice?’
‘Please do, sir,’ said William.
‘Don’t tell anyone in authority what actually happened tonight.’
BOOK TWO
The Games
CHAPTER 14
Saturday, 28 July – day 2 of the Games
WILLIAM WAS SO EXHAUSTED that he couldn’t sleep. He toppled out of his camp bed just after five, took a cold shower and got dressed. He left the stadium before the sun had risen and began to walk slowly around a deserted Olympic Park. He would, like Ross, have run, but he found he couldn’t fully concentrate while jogging.
He began by trying to get his thoughts in some order. How close had they come to total disaster? Far too close. And if this had been engineered from high up in the Russian government, as he feared, then what was coming next? He would need to gather all the salient facts from his inner team before he could brief the Hawk.
Last night, Ross had attempted to interview the engineer they’d arrested, but with little success; so far, the man wouldn’t talk. Ross would try again this morning, but William held little hope of any real information being forthcoming. In the meantime, there was someone else he needed to speak to: Professor Meredith, his contact at GCHQ. If there was anyone who might be able to throw some light on what they could expect, it was Meredith, a man who spent his life thinking outside the box and continually preparing for the unexpected. They had met several times in the run-up to the Olympics, and William knew he could rely on his discretion. But at what hour could he wake him?
William circled the swimming arena and began to make his way slowly back towards the stadium – a stadium that would remain quiet for another week before the starter’s pistol was fired for the first track and field event. In the meantime, the opening week of the Games would be colonized by a myriad of different sports ranging from swimming to gymnastics, boxing to weightlifting, cycling to equestrian events, fencing to … The list was endless. Forty-three world championships held in a single week in an area the size of a village: the Olympic Village. Most of the competitors had waited four years for their moment on the world stage, and for some, it would be no more than a curtain lowered, while their rivals progressed to the next round, fewer still reaching the semi-finals and only a handful the finals, leaving just three to mount the podium and be awarded a gold, silver or bronze medal. Those lucky few would bask in glory for a lifetime, while one, perhaps two, would lay claim to immortality and add their names to the scroll of Olympic history.
William checked his watch once again as he approached the stadium: 5.43. He returned to his dungeon in the basement to prepare for the morning team meeting. So many items on the agenda fell into the category of ‘contingency planning’.
William switched on the light in the Gold Suite, relieved to see the bulb obey his order. He looked up at the bank of CCTV screens. The army engineers had continued working through the night so that the public – and, more importantly, the press – would never find out there had been a problem. The generator room had been fitted with new Banham locks, while two guards were posted outside and another two inside, as well as half a dozen over-qualified electricians carrying out four-hour shifts, so it wouldn’t be necessary to once again call on General Norton’s services.
At six minutes past six, William decided he couldn’t wait any longer. He checked the name on his priority list before slowly dialling the number. Only one ring and the call was answered by a man who sounded wide awake.
‘Good morning, Professor Meredith,’ said William. ‘I hope I didn’t wake you.’
‘No, you didn’t,’ said a voice that didn’t sound surprised to find the Commander on the other end of the line. ‘I’ve been waiting for your call. Forty-eight seconds was a little too long for a blackout to have been a scripted part of the show. So, what happened?’
After William had recounted last night’s near-disaster in detail, he asked, ‘Can you draw any conclusions, Professor, that might assist us in the future?’
‘Only one of any importance,’ responded Meredith. ‘There’s someone out there whose sole purpose is to ensure that the London Games will not be remembered for their sporting prowess.’ He paused. ‘If you are able to identify who that person is, you’ll be halfway to stopping them in their tracks, if you’ll forgive the pun. You said the three men involved are all Russian, so it seems plausible to assume their government may be involved in something on such a grand scale. But somebody has to be in charge of the operation, so that’s the person you need to identify.’
‘We caught one of them red-handed,’ said William, ‘and he spent the rest of the night in the stadium’s prison cell, but, I confess, the other two got clean away.’
‘The one you caught was no doubt nothing more than a foot soldier,’ said Professor Meredith. ‘Has he been questioned yet?’
‘He wouldn’t answer a single question last night. But my team will be trying again this morning.’
‘I suspect he’s no more than a small cog in a very large wheel that is being operated out of Moscow. I doubt he’d know anything of significance anyway.’
Meredith’s tone of voice left William in no doubt of the size and potential danger of the threat.
‘What do you consider should be my next move, Professor?’ he asked.
‘I’m not altogether sure, Commander,’ admitted Meredith, ‘but then, you have to remember that all of us at GCHQ are trained to play the long game. Your particular nemeses have only a two-week window of opportunity available to them, and they will be well aware that another opportunity such as this may not present itself again for several years, if ever – which means they may have to take an occasional risk they would not normally consider. Surprisingly enough, Commander, that could turn out to your advantage.’
William didn’t interrupt.
‘However,’ continued the professor, ‘you have an added problem, as I’m not convinced that it’s only the Russians who are involved. This could even be a three-headed hydra and, therefore, cutting off one of the heads might not solve your problem.’
‘And the other two heads?’
The professor didn’t answer the question directly, but said quietly, ‘You mentioned that you fear a known criminal may be working for the Russians?’
‘Miles Faulkner,’ said William, ‘a white-collar criminal who has crossed my path several times over the years, and has done time – twice – and after this might well spend the rest of his life in jail.’
‘Could Faulkner be strapped for cash?’ was Meredith’s next enquiry.
‘Far from it,’ said William. ‘Croesus is his brother.’
‘Croesus the Great, 620 to 546 BC, didn’t have a brother,’ said Meredith, ‘but I take your point. However, one is bound to ask what’s in it for Faulkner if he doesn’t need the money, because if he were caught, he could be charged with treason.’
‘But if he succeeds,’ said William, ‘I could lose my job, and he’d like nothing more. And there’s something else – Miles Faulkner has been spotted taking a great deal of interest in a Van Gogh self-portrait that is part of the Russian Hermitage collection currently on display at the Fitzmolean.’
‘Ah,’ said Professor Meredith. ‘I begin to see things more clearly. I’ll have a team tracking the Russian Ambassador night and day to see if that particular magnet will attract any filings. But for now, I’ll let you get on with the day job – and, William, don’t hesitate to call if you think I can help.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said William, before putting the phone down. A third party, he repeated to himself, and then he remembered who else was seated in the Russian Ambassador’s box.
• • •
Across the other side of the park beneath the Olympic Stadium, Ross and Jackie were sitting in a police interview room. Opposite them sat the man they had arrested the previous night. He had been down there for nearly twelve hours, having slept in the cell next door.
