Black Dawn - Page Two - Thomas Rand
Read previous scene here: Michael Fawkes - The cellars beneath Westminster Palace
BLACK DAWN - CHAPTER ONE - SCENE TWO
THOMAS RAND: MI6 UNDERCOVER AGENT, LONDON, ENGLAND.
Thomas Rand sat in the corner booth, half in light, half in shadow. From here he could see the door, the window, the counter, and the battered kitchen door with its oval glass porthole. Nothing came in or out without passing through his line of sight.
The diner itself was a relic, a stage-set left over from another age; chrome edges dulled by time, cracked leather seats that sighed when you sat down, a jukebox in the corner that hadn't played since the Blair government.
The coffee in front of him was stone-cold. Untouched. The waitress, a thin woman with the posture of someone who'd fought a thousand small battles and lost most of them, had stopped trying to top it up.
Rand's mind was elsewhere, running the last three days like a reel of film. Each moment had wound him tight. Each hour a turn of the screw. Tonight was the last chance. If he didn’t get the full picture now, the next time he opened his eyes might be in a morgue drawer in a city on the far side of the Atlantic.
For months, the intel had been steady and unanimous. Washington was the target. It made sense. It was logical. But logic was gone. Shadows are quicksilver, and the ones he'd been chasing had shifted. The summons from Viktor Radovic had been sudden and abrupt. Stripped of explanation. It smelled of urgency. And urgency meant danger.
The bell above the door rang. A small sound. Yet, in the tense silence it was as loud as the Herald's trumpet at the opening of a duel.
The man who came in was dressed to disappear: black jacket, torn jeans, cap pulled low. Trying too hard. Rand clocked it instantly, but nobody else in the place even looked twice. The man slid into the seat opposite without a word.
“You’re late,” Rand said, his voice low enough so as not to carry.
He pulled a thin folder from his jacket and tossed it onto the table. “Had to be careful. They’re asking questions. People are jumpy.”
Rand opened the folder and flicked through the pages. In the dim light, the handwriting looked like the last gasps of a dying pen. Shorthand, fragments, jagged line. He read it once. Then twice. Slower. His pulse quickening.
“That’s enough explosive to bring down a building,” he said, almost to himself. His gaze locked on the man. “Several times over.”
The informant’s nod was sharp and tense. “Here.”
The word struck like the point of a blade.
“London?” Rand asked. Until now, every shred of intelligence had pointed at Washington. “How certain is this?”
“As certain as a man can be without digging his own grave. My people moved the cargo into England. It’s here. Has been for weeks. And….”
“And what?”
The man swallowed hard before he spoke. “It’s happening tomorrow.”
Rand stared at him. “You’re sure? I’ve heard nothing.”
“You wouldn’t,” the man said. “They’ve compartmentalised everything. Nobody has the whole picture except the ones at the top.”
Rand glanced at his watch. The date burned into his head like a flare. Tomorrow. The State Opening of Parliament. The King. Prime Minister. Every senior member of government under one roof in Westminster Palace. If this was right, Britain’s leadership could be wiped out in a single blow.
The man shifted in his seat, as if eager to outrun his own words. “You didn’t hear this from me. I’m done after tonight. My debt’s paid.”
Rand closed the folder. “There’s nothing else?”
The man leaned in, close enough that Rand could smell the cigarette smoke clinging to his jacket. “It’s more than bombs. Viktor’s got something special planned. This is just Phase One.” He pulled back and stood. “I did overhear something else. Something about blood. Blood doesn’t lie. Or…. I don’t know. It didn’t make sense.”
The man was gone in seconds, heading for the door with a quick, jerky stride. Rand’s gut tightened. He thought about going after him. Thought about dragging him into an alley for a more forceful conversation. But it wouldn’t do any good. He wouldn’t get anything more from him. And the implications were already loud enough.
Instead, Rand stood, pulled out his phone, and dialled his handler. “It’s not Washington,” he said. “It’s London. Westminster Palace. State Opening. They’re ready to go.”
The reply came almost instantly. No pause. No hesitation. “I’ll push it up the pole. Stay with them. Get the rest of the plan. Extreme prejudice is authorized.”
“Understood.”
Rand pocketed the phone and stepped out into the night. The air was cold and still. Too still. The city felt like it was holding its breath.
Then….
A black van tore around the corner, tyres screeching on the wet tarmac. The side door flung wide open. Two men leapt out, moving with the precision of trained wolves. Fast. Silent. Efficient.
They grabbed him before he could draw breath. Steel hands tightened around his arms. He fought, but they had the drop, the weight, and the speed. Within seconds, he was inside the back of the van, his back hitting the cold metal with a loud thud. The smell of oil and rubber filled his lungs. A white-hot jab tore into his ribs as a heavy boot slammed into him from above.
“Viktor wants a word,” one of them hissed as he slammed the door shut. “He has plans for you, Rand.”
Black Dawn Novel
Comments