Darkest Hour (Age of Misrule, Book 2) (5 page)

May 2, 8 p.m.; News International: Wapping, London:

“There’s no point in us being here.” The accent was pure Mockney, hiding something from the Home Counties. Lucy Manning repeatedly punched the lift button, then shifted from foot to foot with irritation as she watched the lighted numbers’ soporific descent. She was in her twenties, dyed-blonde hair framing a face that had the cold hardness of a frontline soldier.

Beside her, Kay Bliss could have been a mirror image or a copycat sister, but the look and the accent were all part of the office politics; a game they both knew how to play. “Oh, fuck it, Lucy, we’re getting paid, aren’t we? It’s nice not to be out doorstepping some twat until the early hours for a change.” Her voice had the hard vowels of a Geordie, though she could hide it when she had to.

“There’s some idiot from Downing Street permanently in the newsroom,” Lucy continued, “going over every piece of copy with a fine-tooth comb. DNotice on this, D-Notice on that. We’ll be like some fucking cheap local rag soon. Golden wedding stories and photos from the Rotary lunch.” Lucy strode into the lift the second the doors opened, then rattled her nails anxiously on the metal wall. “Come on. Why are these things so fucking slow? All the technology we’ve got in this place, you’d think they’d be able to get lifts that worked quickly.”

“We’re not even supposed to be using them. All those technology crashes-“

“Like we’ve got time to walk up and down flights of stairs all day.”

Kay held her breath until the doors opened on the newsroom floor. She’d spent an hour stuck in it with three monkeys from the loading bay and it wasn’t an episode she wanted to repeat.

Lucy was still talking as she dodged out between the opening doors, “It started with that terrorist strike on the M4-“

“Damon covered that.” Kay looked puzzled for a second. “Terrorists?”

“It had to be terrorists. It wasn’t that long before the Martial Law announcement.”

“Someone said a Yank plane had gone down carrying nukes.”

Lucy shrugged. “And there were all those phone calls from the great unwashed claiming they’d seen some fire-breathing monster.” She flung open the swing doors. “Sometimes I wish I worked for the FT.”

The newsroom was quiet now that all the dayshift had departed. The night news editor stared at the slowly scrolling Press Association newsfeed on his computer while lazily chewing on a cheese roll. One of the sports reporters whistled loudly.

Mello, darlin’,” Kay shouted back with a cheery wave.

“It’s all right for them,” Lucy muttered moodily, “their Ludo tournaments never get censored.”

“You’re in a right mood, aren’t you?”

They’d walked on a few paces before Lucy said, “I had the splash today and they pulled it.”

“Oh, that explains it. Bitter and twisted at not getting any front page glory. What was the story?”

“A whole unit of Royal Marines slaughtered up in the Highlands. A hot tip from my man at Command Headquarters.” She stuck out her bottom lip like a sulky child.

“Wow. A proper story. No EastEnders stud getting bladdered in that one,” Kay said with what Lucy thought was an unreasonable amount of glee. “But you didn’t really expect to get it through, did you?” Lucy shrugged. Kay’s expression gradually became troubled. “Slaughtered? In Scotland?”

“Hey, it’s the Barbie twins!” Kevin Smith, one of the sales managers, had been lurking around the news desk. The hacks hated him for his retro-yuppie look and his aftershave stink, but he insisted on pretending he was one of the boys.

“Fuck off, Kevin,” Kay said with a mock-sweet smile.

“Careful you don’t cut yourself with that.” He patted the desk so they could both sit next to him, but they studiously went round to the other side where they could talk to the handful of freelancers doing the night shift.

“What’s up?” Lucy perched on the edge of the desk so she could tease the newbies with a flash of her thigh.

“Don’t bother the fresh meat!” the news editor barked. “Get over here!”

Kay was first over. “What is it, chief?”

He tapped the screen as he spoke through a mouthful of cheese roll. “PA says the PM’s making an announcement at nine. Half the cabinet is getting the boot and they’re setting up a coalition with the other parties. Government of National Unity or something.”

“Good policy. Get all the losers in one place. It’ll probably be as successful as their Martial Law that they haven’t got enough manpower to enforce.” Kevin had wandered over and was reading the newsfeed over the night news editor’s shoulder.

“I’ll take that one,” Lucy called out.

“You’re both working on it.” The night news editor rammed his chair backwards into the sales manager’s groin. Kevin exhaled sharply, but continued to force a smile.

Kay tore off a sheet of printer paper to make notes. “Blimey. Two proper stories in one day. It’s a sign-the world really is coming to an end!”

They all stopped what they were doing as the night news editor leaned forward to peer at the screen, swearing under his breath. “Somebody must have rattled Downing Street’s cage. There’s a whole load of stuff coming up here. Flights grounded earlier, now we get `train services limited … No international calls … maybe extended disruption of the phone network … orders to shoot looters on sight …’ What the fuck is going on?”

A middle-aged man in a smart dark suit moved slowly from the editor’s office towards the news desk. He had a nondescript haircut and bland features and he carried himself with the stiff demeanour of a civil servant.

“When are you going to tell us what the fuck’s going on?” the night news editor bellowed. “It’s a fucking outrage! The people have a right to know-“

The dark-suited man dropped a sheet of paper on the desk. “This is tomorrow’s page one story. `PM Launches Battle of Britain.”’

They all looked at it, dumbfounded. “You can’t do that!” Lucy could see another byline disappearing before her eyes.

The night news editor scanned the paper, then hammered it beneath the flat of his hand. “We can’t print this! It doesn’t fucking say anything! Just fucking PR guff? Nobody has any idea what’s going on, they don’t know who the fucking enemy is! It could be a fucking coup for all anyone knows! There’ll be panic in the streets-“

“This has been carefully designed to prevent panic,” the man said calmly. “The problem is internal, but not a coup. That is for your information only. The Government needs to act quickly and efficiently and that means the public must not get in the way-“

“It’s like 1984!” The night news editor’s face was flushed bright red.

The civil servant held up a hand to quieten him, which served only to irritate him more. “This is being done with the full approval of your editor-“

“Does he know what’s happening?”

“He’s been briefed by the PM personally, as have all media editors-“

“What’s it got to do with all the technology blackouts?” Kevin interjected. “There’s stuff happening there that makes no sense at all. And all those freak calls we’ve been flooded with … people claiming they’ve seen UFOs and God knows what. I mean, someone said their dead uncle had come back to haunt them. And some farmer said his cows were giving up vinegar instead of milk. I mean, what’s that all about?” He looked from face to face; everyone was staring back at him as if they had a bad smell under their nose. “The switchboard keeps putting them through to my office.”

“I wonder who arranged that?” Kay eyed the night news editor, who gave nothing away.

“We will be making a full and clear statement as soon as the situation demands it,” the civil servant said blandly. “We have no intention of a cover-up. There is a state of emergency for a very good reason and our primary directive has to be to deal with that. It is taking all our resources. You have to believe me on this. Keeping everyone informed comes a very distant second.”

The night news editor read the replacement story one more time, then lounged back in his chair with his hands over his face. “I don’t know why I’m even bothering. We might as well all go down the pub-“

“You can’t go out,” the civil servant said. “There’s a curfew once the sun goes down.”

“And you’re going to stop me personally, are you, you cunt?” The night news editor glared at him venomously. Kay noticed a strange note in her boss’s voice, something that was a little afraid; a suspicion of how bad things really were.

She glanced back to the civil servant who sported a curious expression; it reminded Kay of the look some older people, burdened by life’s problems, gave to teenagers acting stupid and frivolous; a one day you’re going to have a rude awakening look. He masked it quickly with expert precision, shrugged as if everything were beneath his notice, then sauntered slowly back to the editor’s office.

Kay shrugged too. What did he know? Boring, jumped-up twat.

Once the office door had been closed the night news editor said, “I think I might have to kill the bastard.”

“I’m getting a bit worried about this.” Kevin chewed his lip, his gaze still fixed on the office door. “It seems really bad.”

“If it’s a war I could be a war correspondent.” Lucy made a paper aeroplane, but it died midflight.

“Aren’t you worried?” Kevin asked.

She eyed him contemptuously. “What’s to worry about? You want to try getting a drink up the road when all the circulation twats are in trying to pinch your arse. That’s dangerous.”

“Hang on.” The night news editor was staring intently at his terminal.

“Not more bad news,” Kevin said.

The PA newsfeed seemed to be melting, the letters sliding down the screen into a mass at the bottom. Eventually the whole screen was clear. A second later a single word appeared in the top lefthand corner: WARE.

“What does that mean?” Kay asked. “Software?”

The word began to repeat until it filled the whole screen.

“It might mean Be-WARE,” Kevin said. “Some kind of warn-“

“Lucy, get on to Systems.” The night news editor threw the phone across the desk. “This fucking thing isn’t much use to us at the moment, but at least I can see what PA are doing.”

Lucy picked up the phone and instantly dropped it as ear-piercing laughter shrieked from the receiver. “Fuck! What was that!” She stared at the phone as if it were alive.

“Interference,” Kay said wearily. “Try the other one.”

The same inhuman laughter burst from that one too. They had an instant to look at each other in puzzlement and then all the lights and the computer screens winked out, plunging the entire windowless office into total darkness.

There was a long period of deep, worrying silence until everyone heard Kay say, “Fuck off, Kevin.”

May 2, 11 p.m.; Balsall Heath, Birmingham:

“What did your dad say?” Sunita chewed on a strand of her long, black hair while she watched Lee’s face. The night was uncomfortably muggy against the background stink of traffic fumes drifting in from the city centre.

Lee shifted uncomfortably as he scrubbed a hand across his skinhead crop. “What do you think he said?”

The glare from the streetlamp over their heads seemed to draw out the sadness in her delicate features; her large eyes became dark, reflecting pools. “That he doesn’t want his son going out with some Paki.”

“He’s not my dad anyway,” Lee said defensively. “Stepdad.”

They both subconsciously bowed their heads as across the road a crowd of youths making their way back from the pub made loud kissing noises. Once they’d passed, Lee slipped his arms around her back; she felt so fragile against the hardness of his worked-out muscles that he just wanted to protect her.

“Why do we get all this shit?” She rested her head on his chest. “I’m not even twenty yet! We should be having a good time, enjoying it all. Sometimes I feel like an old woman.”

He knew how she felt. When they’d first started seeing each other a year ago he had been almost overwhelmed by the frisson of doing something wrong, at turns both exciting and deeply disconcerting. And the fact that he did feel that way made him queasy because he knew how much his stepfather had corrupted his thought processes. There was nothing wrong with their relationship, but he’d had to keep it secret from his stepfather through what seemed like a million minor deceptions and big lies. It had cast a shadow over everything, when they should have been revelling in the feeling of falling in love; that pure sensation had been lost to them and he hated his stepfather for that loss. There was relief when he finally discovered who Lee was seeing after spotting them holding hands on New Street, but that had brought with it a whole different set of problems, the most worrying of which was that Sunita might no longer be safe. His stepfather’s associates from his weekly meetings were brutal men with a harsh view of life that didn’t allow such weak concepts as love the slightest foothold, and they were relentlessly unforgiving.

Sunita knew all this, and she knew it would be safer for her to leave Lee well alone, but how could she? The choices had been made and imprinted on their souls; they had to live with the consequences. “What are we going to do? Carry on as normal, just … going to different places?”

“You know we can’t do that. They know where you live.” He took a deep breath. “We’re getting out of Birmingham.” He paused while he watched her expression. “Least, that’s what I think. I know it’ll be hard with your family-“

“It’ll be a nightmare! My dad‘11 go crazy, my mum … all that wailing!”

“You’re old enough-“

“That’s not the point.”

He winced at being so insensitive, but he found it hard to see anything from the perspective of a loving, caring family. “I’m sorry, Sunny, but, you know, we’ve got to do something-“

“Where were you thinking of going?”

“Down south somewhere. Just hit the motorway and see where we end up. They’ll never be able to track us.”

She sighed. “It’s not just your dad. It’ll be good to get out of this city. Sometimes it seems like it’s choking the life out of me. There’s something … a meanness … it just gets me down.”

“I know what you mean.” He listened to the drone of city centre traffic drifting over the wasteland and abandoned houses waiting for demolition. “It’ll be good, a fresh start.”