A/N:
Okay, before I post the next meagre chapter (I'm sorry, but I will explain why it is so meagre in a second) I wanted to take a moment to speak to everyone and anyone that reads this. I know I have been a bit MIA recently (my last update for this book was at the end of FEBRUARY!!!! Again, my deepest apologies for that) and I just wanted to say thank you for being so patient and sticking with me.
The reason why I haven't updated in so long is because, well, you're gonna hate me for this, but I am suffering once again with the dreaded WRITER'S BLOCK! Aah! I did go away for a week at the end of March to Belfast too but I won't go into that - unless there is anyone reading this from Belfast then drop me a line ;) I'd love to speak to you all.
Anyway, back on topic. Despite the writer's block I have got so far into the next chapter, albeit it not even being half way, and I wasn't going to post it but considering there may be a long wait for the next upload (I know, I'm crying about it too) then I thought I should post it because you all deserve it (and a lot more!)
I know how I want the story to plan out but I just can't seem to get the ideas out of my head, converted into my nervous system, typed out through my fingertips and onto the screens of all you lovely readers. I promise I will try and get there as soon as possible but until then I hope that this (extremely) short chapter will curb some of your withdrawal symptoms.
Now that that's all sorted I'm going to go away and crawl into a corner whilst you read the next few lines - seriously, this author's note is probably longer than the next chapter :( Again, I apologise.
Melissa.
~~~~~~
Chapter 23
A conference call connected the MI5 operations room to 10 Downing Street's war office where the Prime Minister sat around an oval oak table with his most trusted advisors waiting for a video feed to come up.
As they waited, the prime minister asked Truro through the phone connection for an update on the search for the bombers who may at this very moment be preparing for an attack on their city.
"We are sharing information with other agencies and drawing up a list of possible names," Truro replied.
"What about the terror watch list?" the PM asked, "Can we start checking the locations of some of the people on there?"
"We can but if we start knocking down the wrong doors then we could be alerting the real terrorists that we know them and they could bring forward their attack."
"Very well," the PM leaned forward and ran a hand over his mouth as a light suddenly reflected off the polished oak table and he looked up to the screen in the room had turned on, "What is this footage we are about to see?" He asked.
"This is a live feed from the drone we currently have deployed over the compound. General Ridgeway and his team are on site, sir."
Everyone in the room turned from their muted conversations and the sheets of information in their hands to look at the screen as it switched from regular camera footage to heat signature. The screen lit up with a mirage of warm reds and cold blues providing a blurry picture of the building and its hilly surroundings. Was his niece somewhere in that circular blob of red or was she already dead? He prayed not for his sister's sake.
Sat at the head of the table, directly across from the screen, the prime minister shifted forward in his chair and scanned the footage eagerly as he looked for Ridgeway's private operations team whom he had been informed had been sent in. As he stared at the screen he spotted a few red figures in the corner. Moving outwards to surround the building he wondered what they were doing when someone in the MI5 operations room navigated the drone and its camera so as to follow the Special Task Force. As it did so everyone spotted a few more figures waiting on the perimeter of the site, which everyone took to be hostiles. A few moments later the special task force crept up behind the terrorist sentries and engaged in hand to hand combat.
As they watched the scene unfold via the barrier of a digital screen it could almost make people believe that it was nothing more than a television show rather than real life, and that the people they were watching were not experiencing this for real almost half a world away. However it did not take away from the urgency of the moment and the air in the room felt heavy with anticipation.
The figures on the screen were blurry from the heat signature and they could not make out certain moves or who was who as they seemed to merge together into one large ball of warmth. After a few minutes the figures fighting were joined by half a dozen others who, according to the prime minister's maths, made up the entirety of Ridgeway's Special Task Force. He spotted that the other hostile sentry was also missing from their previous position on the opposite side of the screen.
"Truro, can you switch it back to the real-time camera please?" the prime minister spoke directly into the speaker phone. Someone in the operations room heard his request and almost immediately the footage on the screen turned from a mosaic of red and blues to more earthy urban colours and real-life features.
Getting to his feet, he walked around the table and up to the screen where he squinted at the people stood on the hillside. Seeming to hear his thoughts and share the Prime Minister's concerns Truro ordered the camera to zoom in on the people with General Ridgeway. Almost immediately their facial recognition program kicked into gear and mapped out the individual features of every person within camera scope. As it processed each face through its extensive programme it came back with the names and any additional photographs on the right hand side of the screen. A few seconds ticked by before the names and profile pictures of General Ridgeway, Samantha McAndrew and the four members of his team popped up in a list.
But who were they with?
A moment later, as the people on the ground turned, the camera latched onto the partial shots of their faces and, using probability, matched them to the names of Lieutenant and Sergeant Langdale. Across town in the MI5 operations task room, Truro was gazing up in confusion at the same footage the prime minister was seeing but on a much larger scope.
"I told them to stand down," Truro said out loud, "What are they still doing there, and how did they find out where the compound was?"
As he asked the question a light bulb went on in his head and he turned to look at Commander Strong, "You told them."
Strong turned to face Truro slowly as he heard the tone of his voice, "Yes I did and from where I'm sitting I think you should be thanking them."
"Thank them-" Truro shouted before he caught himself, remembering that he was on an open line with the prime minister.
Biting his lower lip, Truro stalked over to Strong, "Thank them?" He asked again, "They disobeyed a direct order. Your little team shouldn't have been there in the first place."
"Now listen here," Strong took offence, "Without that 'little team', as you call it, we still wouldn't know about the most dangerous threat to our country since the 7/7 Bombings and nor would we know the location of the terrorists planning that same attack giving us a chance to stop it, and potentially save hundreds of lives. So yes," Strong growled, "You should be thanking them."
Truro's face grew red the more Strong talked but just when he was about to speak again Strong held up a hand and stopped him. Truro glared down at his hand like he was a school kid being told to be quiet by a dinner lady.
"Oh, and one more thing, they're my marines," Strong's chest filled with pride, "They don't take orders from you."
Truro narrowed his eyes at Strong when the prime ministers voice filled the room and it was evident that he had heard the entire altercation along with the dozens of other people in the operations room around them. Truro turned away in anger and embarrassment as he listened to the prime minister.
"It is too late now," The PM said, stood before the screen in his small room, "And as my mother used to say, many hands make light work. Let's hope they can work together to-"
The prime minister stopped talking as an audible gasp filled the room as half of the screens were lit up with an explosion. Everyone in the operations room fell silent as the smoke from the explosion momentarily obscured the drone's camera before the person navigating it steered it out of the way and banked the drone out wide as to get a larger view of the damage. A large orange ball of fire was raging near the head of the compound where it seemed a bomb had detonated in a vehicle, demolishing some of the brick building it was parked near to along with it.
"Where the hell did that come from?"
"A suicide bomb?"
"An accident?"
Questions were popping up everywhere in the operations room but as Truro ran it through his head he knew that they were all wrong. It made no sense for the terrorists to detonate a suicide bomb in the middle of nowhere or to create a diversion if they thought no one was watching them. No, there was only one theory which made sense.
Turning to look at Strong, Truro arched an eyebrow, "Should I be thanking your marines now?"
Strong narrowed his eyes but said nothing as Truro left to try and control the situation whilst he stood and looked back at the screen trusting that Marc and the others knew what they were doing because he knew that Truro was right, his marines had done this.
*
The explosion rocked the earth beneath their feet as they watched a twenty foot plume of smoke and flame cascade into the air across from them.
"Whoa," Jules whispered, she hadn't expected the terrorists grade of explosives to be quite so . . . well, explosive. It only added to her concern for those inside the compound.
"Carlos? Twitch?" She called into the microphone but the only reply she got was the annoying buzz of static.
The others were looking back and forth between her and the fire that now crackled through the jeep and building alike.
Throwing the phone to the ground, no longer in need of it, Jules gripped her rifle and began to head for the compound when a hand shot out and grabbed her arm, stopping her. Looking down at where the hand touched her, noticing the fingernails had been cut down as far as they could go, she looked back up at its owner and found that it was Ridgeways female operative. With a face like stone, her brown hair pulled back into a tight, sleek bun she stared down at Jules like a robot.
"Where do you think you're going?" Ridgeway demanded, stepping up beside the operative and in front of Julia.
"To find my team," Jules snapped as she yanked her arm free from the woman's grasp. She heard Marc take a step towards them from behind her.
"Of course," Ridgeway chuckled, his aged face lighting up a little as he heard her words, "How could I forget? Carlos is in there, isn't he?" Ridgeway pointed to the building, laughing.
Jules clenched her jaw. She hated that he knew Carlos from before more than she did but it was a feeling she was getting used to, although Ridgeway's smug face made her want to punch it.
"You two always were quite the pair in the day," Ridgeway sighed as if remembering some happy memory whereas Jules only remembered what Marc had told her, and somehow she did not think that the things they had done could be called 'happy'. From the corner of her eye, Julia could see Sam watching closely and she could almost see her making mental notes in her head to remember for later. Jules did not know what that woman's objective was so she was going to have to watch what she said and did in front of her.
"Yes, he is in there," Marc intervened just as the popping of gunshots reached their ears and everyone turned to look at the compound.
"And it sounds as if they could use our help so if you would excuse us," Marc gave him a strained smile as he stretched his arm out in front of them so as to allow Jules to pass without them able to touch her again.
She had taken a few steps when Ridgeway piped up, "I'm afraid I cannot allow that."
But his words struck the last nerve inside of her and Jules lost all sense of decorum, ranking and patience. Spinning on her heel she strode back towards him until she was less than a foot away. She could see his female bodyguard grow weary beside him but Ridgeway didn't flinch.
"Look, dickhead," Julia snapped at him, swinging the barrel of her rifle close to his face, "People that I care about are in that building so neither you or God himself is going to stop me from going in there, you got that?"
Ridgeway's eyes somehow hardened in annoyance and yet also sparkled with something close to pride as he looked down at her. It only made Jules frustrated because he did not get the right to be proud of her. Not any longer.
"Come along if you want," Jules looked at each of them, "But we're leading this mission." Turning around she stalked back past Marc and headed down the hillside, not waiting for their answer.
Marc stood for a moment, his chest filling with love for that woman, and smirked at Ridgeway's annoyed expression. Marc got the sense that he was used to giving the orders rather than taking them, especially from one of his old pupils.
"Are you really that surprised?" Marc said, "You trained her."
"That is true, I did train her," Ridgeway nodded, "But I was never able to condition that attitude out of her. She kept that from the moment I met her."