Seven Day Hero Page 2

  Whereas President Stephen Abrams of the United States had at least pretended to be happy about ‘increased European security’, the President of the Chinese People’s Republic, Tsang Feng, made no such effort. Just as China was beginning to come into her own as an economic giant, the spectre of a Confederation of the United States of Europe and Russia, of which ERA was just the first step, made Feng genuinely fear for China’s future. As he saw the world’s previous bastion of socialism embrace the capitalist entreaties of the West finally and irrevocably, the Chinese President was scathing in his denouncements, and had severed all of the country’s ties to the Russian Federation.

  Severin truly believed that Feng was potentially feeling threatened enough to make some sort of move, possibly to the extent of trying to disrupt the treaty signing that afternoon. There were even rumours circulating in the intelligence underworld about increased activity in Section Nine, the foreign action arm of China’s secret intelligence service.

  Paranoid? Severin asked himself as he continued to stare out of the windows, the dim daylight aided by the 1000 watt bulbs of the helicopters above as they illuminated the road ahead. No, he wasn’t paranoid, he decided. He was just good at his job.

  5

  Gathered around the front of the Riksdagshuset, and all along Bankkajen, members of the world’s press had gathered to report on the day’s events.

  Film crews and photographers were hard at work, trying to record images of the arriving leaders that would perhaps become iconic in later years, or perhaps only memorable; but which would at the very least justify their pay checks.

  But with the simple beauty of the hazy sunlight shooting down in magical white shafts, made even more perfect by the glimmer of crystalline snow that still fell lazily over Gamla Stan, combined with the overwhelming importance of today’s treaty signing, the feeling amongst the gathered experts was that there would probably be no better chance for them to make their professional mark.

  As news broadcasters read their reports live to audiences around the world, and journalists scribbled down notes in their little books, other groups trained their cameras towards Riksbron, the road connecting Helgeands Holmen to the mainland, awaiting the imminent arrival of President Danko’s limousine. If they were concerned with getting some memorable images, this would be their last chance; once Danko was inside, their colleagues would take over from the main chamber where the actual signing ceremony would take place. And by the time all the leaders left, the vagaries of the Swedish winter meant that it would be in darkness.

  On the main Bankkajen road, just fifty feet from where Danko’s presidential limousine would stop, a BBC camera team was making last minute preparations.

  ‘Come on Paul, get it focussed properly,’ cajoled Jess Ireland, the team leader. Paul Churchill sighed, but nodded his head anyway. The camera was in focus, and had been all day. But Jess was what could be termed ‘highly-strung’, although her team had other words with which they described it, and she was determined to get the best shots possible. After all, they had been granted the prime position out of all the news teams present, and with the sun at its zenith, a single shaft illuminating the pavement at the exact point where Danko was to alight, the young and ambitious team leader could see an award or two coming her – or, she sometimes wondered, should it her team’s? – way.

  ‘How’s the light, Stevie?’ she asked her exuberant, highly experienced lighting technician.

  ‘Oh great, just great, Jess. Perfect, in fact. It’s gonna be –’ But Stevie was swiftly cut off by a wave of Jess’s hand, as her other one went to the small earpiece in her left ear.

  A few seconds later, she looked up, anxious and excited. ‘Okay guys, here we go!’ she exclaimed. ‘Danko’s pulled onto Stromgatan, and will be here in three minutes! This is our big chance people, don’t let me down!’

  And with that last minute encouragement, ‘her people’ made themselves ready. It was their big chance, after all.

  On the other side of Bankkajen, the news of Danko’s imminent arrival was simultaneously received by Lao Kang, the apparent team leader of Beijing News, China’s state news service. The original team leader, however, was still in his hotel room, along with all of the other genuine members of the news crew, their throats slit from ear to ear.

  The fact that the Beijing News studio was receiving live satellite images of an unknown man instead of their regular reporter did not bother Kang, however. As he nodded gravely to his team, he reflected that the deception would soon be obvious to everyone.

  6

  The rest of the world’s press, meanwhile, were gathered in the central auditorium, along with the thirty leaders of the European Union, their innumerable aides, and visiting dignitaries.

  The gathered heads of state were seated in a semi-circle in front of a stage, where the treaty stood on top of a gilded lectern. There would be several speeches made that afternoon; by Michel Urquehart, the current EU President; Wolfgang Kiel, the EU Finance Minister; Sebastian Vermear, the Commissioner for European Integration; by Adam Gregory, the only EU head of state to speak, so honoured due to his initial suggestion of the whole idea, and as a representative of the EU as a whole; and finally by President Danko, who would then be the first to sign the treaty. Each EU leader was then to sign the treaty in turn, forming a thirty man procession that would end with the official recognition of the Euro Russian Alliance.

  Waiting with other ministerial and presidential aides in the banked seating immediately behind the assembled heads of state, Sir Noel Hansard checked his watch. 12.57 pm. Just one minute left until Danko’s limousine was due to arrive, giving him two minutes to get to the chamber for his scheduled entrance at exactly one o’clock.

  Not long now, thought Hansard. The beginning of a new world was just around the corner.

  7

  From the front seat of the armoured limousine, Severin started to be able to make out the massed groups of news teams gathered outside the vehicle’s final destination. The windscreen wipers struggled valiantly to keep the window clear, the snow not so heavy now but still showing no sign of abating completely.

  Severin was even more alert now that the journey was almost over. The car would soon be slowing, thereby becoming more vulnerable to attack. But, he reasoned, the security around the Riksdagshuset was watertight. Wasn’t it?

  As his hand reflexively checked the position of his customized Sig Sauer pistol in the spring-loaded holster on his belt, he answered his own question. Of course not. Security could never be watertight. His years of fighting terrorists and insurgents in their various guises over the world had at least taught him one hard-won lesson.

  Where there was a will, there was a way.

  8

  Outside the Riksdagshuset, all attention was on the black Bentley approaching along Bankkajen, slowing now as it neared the building’s elegant façade, every camera trained intently upon it.

  One such camera was being directed by a member of the ersatz Beijing News team, who trained it firmly towards the rear passenger door. In contrast to the seasoned news professionals around him, however, the hands of Tang Lung were unsteady. He wasn’t used to this kind of pressure; or, indeed, to this kind of work. His mind reflected briefly on what was at stake for the team as Kang placed a reassuring hand on the inexperienced young man’s shoulder, and Lung’s grip tightened and steadied on the camera as he was filled with new resolve.

  Ignoring the bead of sweat that defied the December chill and ran into his open eye, he flicked up the cover of a control switch on the side of the camera, depressing the button underneath.

  And, unseen by the gathered news people and police guards but monitored closely by Lung through his viewfinder, an infrared laser beam pierced the hazy wall of snow and illuminated the door of Danko’s vehicle perfectly.

  9

  On board the small vessel anchored off Lilla Värtan, tension was running similarly high. The lookouts scanned the area more carefully, the radio op
erator scanned his frequencies with greater vigilance, and the two men on the port side widened their stances and shrugged their shoulders, adjusting to the weight of the SA-9 Grail laser-guided missile launchers that they aimed over the guardrail of the ship.

  The men waited, tense and unsure. Where was the signal? Their thoughts were synchronous, their concerns over a successful completion to their mission overpowering their feelings of fear for their own safety. They didn’t have the time to consider that both of these things were inextricably linked.

  Suddenly, a red light flashed at them from the weapons’ viewfinders. It took a full two seconds for the significance of the light to register. The soldier on the left caught it first. ‘Sir!’ he shouted in his native Cantonese tongue. ‘We have a target lock!’ His opposite number confirmed the lock immediately.

  Liu Chia Chang, the Operational Commander for the missile launch, smiled in both relief and anticipation. He opened his mouth to give his commands, when his radioman shouted in panic.

  ‘Sir! I’ve intercepted an emergency message to the Navy patrol boats! They have our location and have been ordered to intercept us!’

  Chang was at a momentary loss. ‘What?’ he cried out, incredulous. ‘How?’

  ‘I don’t know sir, but they’re incoming!’ replied the radio operator, frantically trying alternative frequencies to get more information.

  As Chang calculated his options swiftly, he began to hear the unmistakable sounds of a high-powered motorized vessel approaching at speed. What could he do? As it stood, they had committed no crime. If caught, they could only be charged with weapons possession. They hadn’t really done anything – yet.

  But he knew how it would look, and he had heard stories about the treatment of terrorist suspects, guilty or not. And failing in his mission would bring about other, even less tolerable penalties.

  In the end, there was no real choice. ‘Plan Bravo!’ he shouted, trying to retain control over his voice so as not to betray his nerves to his team. ‘Go! Go! Go!’

  Immediately on his command, the lookouts stowed their binoculars and reached under their blankets, pulling out Chinese-made AK-74 assault rifles and training them on the approaching Navy patrol boat.

  The radio operator made his own emergency, coded transmission, then sprang to his feet, grabbing a weapon and joining his comrades.

  Chang raced to the stern side of the yacht, from where he could now see the Navy vessel clearly, still advancing at frightening speed.

  The only men to remain resolutely immobile were those with the missile launchers, waiting for their red lights to turn green, the signal that Danko was leaving his vehicle and that would make them depress their triggers, sending 20.7kg of high explosive hurtling at 1400mph through the cool afternoon sky towards the Riksdagshuset.

  10

  Severin’s worst fears for Danko’s safety always occurred during the ‘transition’ phases of a journey, when the Russian President would have to move between vehicles and buildings and therefore be relatively exposed. It was the time of maximum vulnerability, and he hated it.

  As the limousine slowed to a halt, his pulse was rising despite his many years of experience. But he had grown accustomed to the unpleasant feelings, and he was ready.

  As soon as the vehicle stopped, Severin was out of the door and by the rear cabin, hand on the handle and eyes relentlessly scanning the crowd. There were over a hundred armed police, members of Sweden’s elite DFT unit, in addition to snipers with high-powered rifles on every rooftop in the area. In addition, every member of the press had had their credentials and their equipment thoroughly checked. But it never hurt to double check, and Severin couldn’t help but scan the nearest news crews.

  He saw that a BBC team had pride of place, then Sky News, Les Etoiles and Die Welt. Nothing out of the ordinary, except for a small movement from Beijing News on the other side of Bankkajen that caught his eye. An almost imperceptible shaking of the camera. Nerves? Or perhaps just the cold?

  He sighed as he wondered if he really was becoming paranoid, then yanked open the passenger door, hand on his pistol, ready.

  11

  Jess Ireland watched Severin from her position behind the press barricade just fifty yards away.

  What’s he waiting for?, she wondered. Just open the bloody door! Some of us have work to do!

  Moments later, the door opened. The Foreign Secretary, Pyotr Vorstetin, climbed out of the vehicle, waved at the throngs of onlookers, and was immediately met by a police guard who ushered him towards the parliament house.

  Severin slammed the door shut and moved carefully to the other side of the vehicle, eyes continuing to scan; taking in everything and missing nothing.

  Severin’s hand touched the door handle. Here we go, Jill told herself. This is it.

  ‘Keep that camera steady Paul,’ she warned.

  Paul grunted in response. The camera was rock steady.

  12

  Another drop of sweat found its way into Lung’s eye, but he didn’t even notice. Seen only by Lung, the laser beam shone brightly onto Danko’s chest as the man stepped out of his limousine, hands raised in greeting to the world’s press.

  Although nervous, Lung nevertheless felt curiously detached as he depressed the switch that would send the signal to his comrades, the electronic impulse that would change the red ‘Stand By’ light to the green ‘Go’ light; a simple change of colour that would result in President Danko, his security detail, and his entire limousine being blown off the face of the earth.

  13

  Aboard the small yacht, chaos was running rampant. The Navy patrol boat was stationed just fifty metres off the yacht’s stern, and had been quickly joined by two more. Announcements had been made by loudspeaker, in both Swedish and English, demanding the surrender of the vessel.

  These demands, on Chang’s order, were met immediately with a hail of defiant, deafening, automatic gunfire.

  Fire was returned moments later by the Navy vessels, but being patrol vessels they were only lightly armed. When Chang escalated the situation by firing grenades at the boats, causing fire and explosions on the main decks of two of the craft, they reluctantly pulled back to a safe distance.

  A victorious roar went up from the yacht’s crew, but was quickly silenced by Chang. ‘We’ve not won yet. They’re calling for reinforcements. We have to be on our guard.’

  Chang’s words were validated only moments later, when the captain of the lead vessel announced that a naval destroyer was en route, and that this was their last chance to surrender before their yacht was blown out of the water.

  Chang looked to the men standing motionless with their missile launchers, on the other side of the vessel, out of view of the patrol boats. He was nervous. A destroyer could blow his ship out of the water. Easily. What’s taking the others so long?, he frantically wondered. Where’s the green light? What are we going to –

  But then he saw the glow of the tortuous red lights at last turn mercifully green, and couldn’t help but smile broadly and victoriously as the two SA-9 missiles streaked majestically into the air, on their way to an exact, laser-designated point just outside the gates of the parliament house.

  On board the lead Navy patrol boat, Willie Larsson’s eyes went wide as he saw the twin streaks of fire shoot up from the far side of the yacht.

  ‘What in the name of - !’ He was caught mid-breath as he realized what had happened, a cold vice seeming to wrench suddenly around his heart.

  He turned violently to his radio operator. ‘Get me Headquarters! Now!’ he yelled. He had to warn them!

  14

  Danko was finally out of the vehicle now, Severin shadowing him closely. Only a few metres away from the grand entrance, and he would finally be able to relax as Danko’s security was handed over to the Swedish DFT agents within the building. They had offered to escort him from the car, but Severin wanted to escort him as far as he could himself; it wasn’t that he was distrustful, just that he con
sidered himself the best.

  It was going to be okay, he told himself. It was going to be just fine. His fingers even relaxed ever so slightly in their position over his concealed weapon.

  But then a flurry of activity caused him to reflexively tighten his grip. Swedish security personnel all around the area suddenly all had their hands to their earpieces, their eyes going wide after a few moments of listening. Soon after, they were all leaping into action; some racing towards the press, others towards Danko and Severin. The gestures were universal – get down!

  Severin instinctively pushed Danko to the floor, weapon out and levelled, scanning the area from one side to the other.

  Chaos began to ensue, but within less than a second all activity stopped, as a huge, horrendous, apocalyptic shriek was heard from above and all eyes turned skyward to see what it was.

  Cameras turned skyward too, and Paul Churchill’s was one of the first; his reactions sufficient to operate effectively without any prompting from his team leader, who was staring upwards, mouth agape but, for once, with no sound coming out.

  Behind the lens, Paul’s mouth dropped open as well as he saw two jagged streaks of light arcing their way out of the sky, aimed – where?

  Realization dawned only an instant before the missiles struck.

  15

  Covering his president, forcing him back towards the armoured cover of the limousine, Severin didn’t see the impact. He felt it though, and was rocked forcibly as the far side of the vehicle absorbed the shockwave, the inch-thick armoured glass exploding above his head and showering him with shredded particles.

  He regained his composure more quickly than most men would, and raised his head to check out the impact zone. Curiously, the missiles had not hit the limousine, or even the Riksdagshuset. Instead they had obliterated, completely and totally, the entire BBC news crew that he had observed earlier behind the press barricade. All that remained was a huge, smoking double crater, whilst bodies from the neighbouring news crews lay strewn everywhere; some dead, some unconscious, some groaning in pain, limbs torn from their bodies.