Chapters (45)
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Contents
- Prologue
- 2046
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- About the Author
She cannot do a thing to stop it or make it not happen. No one would listen. The man is adored by tens of millions with a popularity not known since Churchill during the war. Every little factor has been taken into account. She is British by birth but born to an Egyptian mother and an Indian father. She is young and female. She is physically beautiful and a police officer on a salary that will never really be that high. In contrast, he is the Prime Minister. Enough said. There is no evidence and there never will be. The only option is to get away and that option is under way now. Fourteen days and she will be protecting the royals instead. Old, infirm, rude and incredibly wealthy, but it is not here and that is all that matters.
‘Pilkington to Safa, private business caller towards you for exit.’
‘Safa received.’
The aide comes first, leading the way with the man walking behind. The man smiles at Safa as he ventures down the corridor towards the door and nods politely as he passes. She stares back without expression.
‘Have a good evening, sir,’ the aide gushes as the man walks through the opened front door.
‘Safa to front door, private business caller with you.’
‘Front door received, caller on way to gate.’
‘Gate received, visual on caller now.’
A gentle rise in her heart rate and her stomach tenses. Eyes forward. Firm and resolute. She steels herself in readiness.
The Prime Minister appears within a few minutes. Blustering along the corridor with Carmichael following in his wake and a muted conversation under way. They stop to talk quietly before Carmichael nods and walks off.
Exhaling noisily through his nose, the Prime Minister walks briskly to the lift and waits for Safa to key the code. A visual check inside and she steps aside, letting him enter before walking in after him. The doors close with a gentle hiss, sealing them into the dead zone. No electronics will work in the lift. No CCTV. No audio devices and even her radio will not transmit. After the bunker, the lift is one of the most secure rooms within the building. A gentle vibration and the lift starts to ascend and she stares ahead, praying they go straight to the top, but the hand moves past her shoulder and presses the button, bringing the lift to a gentle stop between floors.
‘How are you, Safa?’ he asks gently.
‘Fine, sir,’ she replies dully.