The Pong of Power by Mark Hanlon

Author:Mark Hanlon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd
Published: 2018-11-28T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

Aftermath

Downing Street was in chaos.

The headlines screamed: “MOBILITY SCOOTER ATTACK ON DOWNING STREET”, “THE DOWNING STREET MASSACRE”, “BUBONIC OUTBREAK/FINANCIAL CRISIS/ATTACK” or just plain “PM HAS WILLY” from The Daily Telegraph.

Already images of the black rider emerged, captured on CCTV: “JUST WHO IS THE BLACK RIDER? DOES IT BRING THE PLAGUE?” Cartoon illustrations showed images of the Grim Reaper, with his scythe, trundling around on a black mobility scooter.

I woke during the attack and was immediately immobilised by gas. I started to come round as the wail of police and ambulance sirens entered Downing Street. Clearly the alarm had been raised. Explosions in Downing Street tend not to go unnoticed… hopefully.

I staggered into the Old Lady’s bedroom. I saw her on the floor, distraught, the body of Sir Richard Bumble next to her.

Before we had chance to speak, police burst into the room “Prime Minister Out! Out! Out!” We were bundled downstairs and into a vehicle and drove out of Downing Street at breakneck speed.

The Old Lady was breathless. “I imagine they are taking me somewhere safe…”

I was concerned. “I just hope this isn’t phase two. A well-orchestrated kidnap! We’ve just allowed ourselves to be bundled into cars and driven away.”

The Old Lady panted. “I doubt it; they tried to finish me off. Why kidnap me when they tried to kill me?”

I stumbled on my words. “Sir Richard?”

She shook her head, “Gone.”

“Sir Eustace?”

“Who knows? He should be with us.”

We screeched through the streets of London. Eventually we reached the MI5 building, which we had visited previously for the Old Lady’s probe. Back again.

We drove inside and were bundled down into the basement. We were marched along a maze of underground corridors until we reached the end of a corridor and into a large square room the size of a tennis court labelled “Operations Room”. The Operations Room was full of desks with people working furiously at them. Banks of technical equipment and TV screens lined the walls. It looked like a war room. In the far corner was an unused office with a large conference table that could seat about 20 people. Looking at all the people in the Operations Room, we didn’t recognise anyone.

We went into the unused office and sat at the large conference table for about an hour, in shock. We fought back our tiredness and, when we regained our composure, we were briefed by intelligence officers. The gas was no ordinary gas. Nitrous oxide might make some people chuckle but it was mainly a relaxant, used in dental operations and the like, and had to be administered at close quarters. It didn’t normally produce smoke. The intelligence briefings were clear that the manufacture of such a gas with those side effects at long range, the staging of the whole operation, including the missile attack on the House of Lords, clearly required considerable resources. The production of the gas and the military execution of the attack itself meant that whoever was responsible had financial resources and scientific and military expertise.

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