The Fox reporter, wide-eyed with shock, breathlessly tried to explain what had happened, before an armed security guard marched up to him and ordered him to move away. Only minutes had passed since the blast impact, but the area was already filled with more police and military personnel than Cole could count.
The scene changed back to the newsroom, where the studio commentators played back the video of the incident, which the Fox cameraman had miraculously captured in all its morbid glory.
A Chinese attack on the Russian President? Cole wondered, dumbfounded. He knew Tsang Feng was against the defence pact, but this was just insane. As he considered matters further, his initial hatred and anger subsided, replaced by a cool detachment that had served him well throughout an operational career that seemed barely believable, especially to those who knew its full extent.
Anger wouldn’t help, he knew. And he could receive a call at any minute; his unique skill set ensured that his services were still regularly called upon, even after so many years.
He took the remote control to start taping the news channel for future reference, but found that it was already recording. He had started it, without conscious thought, from the moment he’d seen the look of shock on the CNN commentator’s face.
Angry or not, the cool detachment was there with him, always.
6
Vice Admiral Charles Hansard relaxed back in his plush leather captain’s chair, the telephone receiver cradled to his ear as he lit his hand-crafted pipe. Despite the softness of the seat, he sat with his back ramrod straight. The man had a decidedly military bearing, an understandable characteristic having joined the US Navy after graduating first in his class at Annapolis back in 1971. He had graduated summa cum laude from Harvard Law just the year before, but had decided to serve the American military machine in one way or another ever since.
He was at the present time the Director of National Intelligence, tasked with implementing the integration of the wider intelligence community into a coherent whole. His role gave him jurisdiction over the entire US intelligence world, and he was the President’s principle advisor on such matters.
Although he was often at the White House or the Pentagon, the Office of the Director of National Intelligence was based in a non-descript office block in Chevy Chase, between Bethesda and Silver Spring, and it was here that Hansard took the phone call from Clyde Rutherford.
‘So how is she feeling?’ Hansard asked the Secretary for Defence.
‘Not bad considering,’ Rutherford replied. He was calling from an encrypted cell phone, aboard Air Force One on his way home with President Abrams. It had been decided that it might be unsafe to stay in Stockholm considering what had occurred earlier that day.
‘Early thoughts on a reaction?’ Hansard asked next, pouring himself a measure of cognac into a cut crystal balloon.
‘Pretty much exactly like you thought,’ Rutherford confirmed. ‘You’ll know soon enough anyway, she’s gonna want to see you as soon as she gets back.’
‘Yes, she’s already sent word for me to meet her at the White House this evening,’ Hansard said casually, sipping from the amber liquid, savouring its flavour.
‘What about Bill?’ Rutherford asked tentatively.
‘We’ll see. It doesn’t look good though, so I’m prepared to go with the plan.’
There was a pause on the other end of the line. ‘A shame,’ Rutherford said finally.
‘A damn shame,’ Hansard agreed. ‘But you know as well as I that you can’t make an omelette without breaking some eggs.’
7
Ensconced in the Presidential aircraft a thousand miles away, Rutherford’s blood ran cold.
He knew all too well that Charles Hansard had no problem whatsoever with breaking eggs. His absolute ruthlessness, disguised by the genteel manners of an older gentleman, was what made him so terribly effective in what he did. That, Rutherford thought, and his incredible intellect. Hansard’s intelligence combined with a relentlessness that bordered on the sociopathic, and it was a combination to be both admired and feared.
For his part, Rutherford felt both ways about the old man. But despite his personal feelings, he was in no doubt whatsoever that Hansard was the right man for the path the country was being led toward, a path that Rutherford fervently believed in and which Hansard himself was instrumental in planning.
‘You’re right, Charles,’ he agreed finally. ‘You’re right.’
Hansard always was.
8
Even after six years on the islands, Cole still found it strange to be celebrating Christmas Day in 24 degrees Celsius heat. Not that Christmases before his move had been exclusively in the depths of winter back in his hometown of Hamtramck, Michigan; many had been spent in even hotter climates, whether on exercise with the Australian SAS in the bone-dry deserts of the Northern Territories, or on operations in the sweltering jungles of Bolivia. It was just strange to be enjoying a family Christmas, at home, in such balmy weather.
As for the children, they’d never known any other way, and Cole watched with affection as Sarah kicked a ball to them on the hundred metres of white sand beach that had come with the property, the deep azure of the Caribbean stretching out from it as far as the eye could see. Cole was playing goalkeeper, and his over-the-top play-acting of trips and dives as Ben and Amy took their shots had both children in constant fits of giggles.
As Cole dived again onto the warm sand, the sight of his family warmed him immensely. He’d managed to avoid watching the news all morning, not wanting to spoil the fun his kids were having opening their presents. The simple joys of his own childhood Christmas mornings had been brought back to him, and he let himself think for a time about the family of Mark Kowalski — for he now thought of Kowalski as a separate person, entirely unrelated to himself. Since his official death in Pakistan, he accepted that he would never again see his parents, his brothers or sisters, or any other member of his old family, ever again. He knew they were all still alive and well back in the same old, small city near Detroit though, and that would have to be enough. At least he had fond memories of them.
Sarah’s memories of her own childhood were not so positive, Cole knew. Her mother had died when she was very young, and she had been raised by her father. He was uninterested in the extreme, however — as well as being inordinately busy — and she had really been raised by the housekeeper, Mrs Dyson, until she had reached her teens and decided she was old enough to raise herself.
The telephone rang then, from inside the house. ‘I’ll get it,’ said Cole, and he jogged back along the sand, going in through a large set of open French doors.
He picked up the landline handset, and an automatic message clicked on. It lasted just five seconds, and he hung up.
What could have happened since yesterday?
9
‘What evidence have we managed to get so far?’ asked President Danko at a virtual conference held via the US secure satellite system.
Jan Hanneskog, the Swedish Prime Minister, picked up the bat for that one. ‘Our intelligence services have identified the origin of the attackers as Han Chinese, from the various remains. We’ve also found remnants of Chinese-manufactured assault rifles and radio equipment, and the guided missile launcher is of a type used by both China and North Korea. Although it appears that the guidance systems on both launchers were mercifully faulty.’
‘We know all that,’ interjected Danko impatiently. ‘Do we know anything else? Ellen?’ He directed his enquiry to President Abrams, as the US was rightly regarded as having both the best electronic and the best human resources in the global intelligence community.