picture here and you will play your part. That is your job, General, lest you forget. I am your commander-in-chief and I have given you a direct order that you will obey. Is that clear?'
There was a long silence.
'I said is that clear?' shouted the man.
'Yes, Sir,' replied the general quietly.
'Then snap to it, soldier.'
I tried to turn my head to see how Tariq was doing, but I got shooting pains in my neck every time I tried, so I gave up. Eventually I managed to open my good eye fully and I saw the general turning off the video conference.
'Trouble with management?' I asked, my voice sounding weak even to myself.
The general turned to face me, his face troubled and uneasy. 'You still alive?'
'My granddad…' I broke off in a fit of coughing that brought blood up into my mouth. I spat it out, took a ragged breath, and went on. 'My granddad was a soldier. Major General. He told me an army is only as good as the orders it receives. Who's giving your orders, General? 'Cause from where I'm sitting, it sounds like your boss is a crazy old fucker who might just be the world's biggest paedophile. And if you're taking orders from him, that makes you the world's biggest kiddie pimp. Ask yourself, General, is that what you signed up for?'
Blythe walked over to me and stared into my face, studying me. He was calmer now, his fury spent. 'Who the hell are you, boy? The things you do, the way you talk. I can't decide whether you're the bravest soldier I ever met, or some kind of lunatic.'
I laughed, but it sounded more like a dying gasp. 'I told you, General. I'm just a boy trying to protect my family.'
'I think I'm starting to believe you.'
'What are you trying to protect, General? What's your endgame?'
'Same as it ever was, son,' he said firmly. 'Freedom.'
'And this is freedom, to you? Torture, massacre, impaling civilians on stakes, burning them alive in football stadiums, killing your own son when he questions your motives. This is your freedom?'
He shook his head, momentarily allowing the doubt and weariness to show on his granite face. 'No, son, it isn't.'
'So what's this all for?' I yelled. 'Why are you following these orders?'
'Because I'm a soldier, it's all I know how to do. It's what I am, a thing that follows orders, no matter what the cost. I don't know how to stop.' He paused and then said softly ''I am in blood stepped so far that, should I wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o'er.''
He stepped back then, shook his head, took his handgun from his desk and raised it so it was pointing right between my eyes.
'I'm sorry, son. Close your eyes.'
I shook my head as much as I was able. 'No, General. Eyes open.'
'So be it.'
He squeezed the trigger, the hammer retracted, and I waited for the impact that would end me.
Chapter Nineteen
'Hello? Anybody there?'
The voice crackled out of my left trouser pocket.
The general narrowed his eyes. 'Thought you'd come alone.' He put the gun down and fished the radio out of my trouser pocket. It was slick with blood, and he wiped it clean on my other trouser leg.
'Lee, Tariq, you there?' It was Jack. I cursed inwardly. So they'd ignored my instructions and waited for us, which meant that now they'd be captured and all of this would have been for nothing.
The general held the radio up to his mouth and pressed the transmit button. 'I'm afraid the boys can't come to the phone right now. Can I take a message?'
For a few seconds all we heard was the crackle of static and then Jack said 'Good morning, General.' He was keeping a cool head. Good. 'Are they still alive?'
'The boy is. The Iraqi,' he glanced at Tariq, 'is still breathing. Don't know if he'll be doing that for much longer. To whom am I speaking?'
'You're addressing the rightful King of England, General. I rule this country, and you are not welcome here.'
What the hell was his game? He should know by now that this was not a man you bluffed. I sat there, powerless to intervene, terrified for my friends. I hoped Jack knew what he was doing.
The general laughed. 'Son, you sound about fifteen.'
'I'm not the first fifteen-year-old king of England, General. And I won't be the last. I'm calling to give you a simple choice.'
Blythe rolled his eyes for me, a moment of theatre. Then, grinning, he said 'Your Majesty?'
'Leave now. Get in your planes and go back to America. Or I will destroy you and your army utterly.' His voice wavered, betraying his nervousness. He didn't quite pull it off, and the effect was awkward rather than threatening.
For a moment the general was too stunned to respond. Then he began to laugh, a deep, rich, booming laugh. 'My God, you Brits really know how to raise your kids!'
'Unlike you, General,' I said pointedly. That stopped his laugher abruptly.
He flashed me a look of pure hatred and spoke into the radio again. 'How exactly do you propose to destroy me, young Majesty? You've got no army left. I've seen to that.'
'He's got me, you bastard.' That was Rowles, and he sounded anything but nervous. 'And that's all he needs.'
Blythe shook his head in wonder. 'Son, you may have killed some of my men, but… oh, this whole conversation is ridiculous. Where are you, anyway? I presume Keegan let you out of your cell.'
'I'm still in the tunnels, General,' said Rowles. 'In a big underground warehouse with a large nuclear symbol on the door.'
Oh.
Oh fuck.
The general saw my eyes widen in shock. He became cautious, my reaction leading him to believe that maybe this wasn't a bluff. He waved at the soldier standing behind me. 'Go,' he said curtly, and I heard the man open the door and run down the corridor.
'What do you know about this?' Blythe asked me.
I had to think very carefully about what I said next.
'I know that Rowles is a psychopath who doesn't seem to value his own life at all,' I said slowly. 'I know that he really, really doesn't like people in uniforms telling him what to do. I know that he's been tortured horribly and that probably hasn't left him in the best frame of mind. Oh, and I know that Jack – that's Your Majesty to you – knows the detonation codes for the nuclear warheads collected by Operation Motherland. The ones in the big underground warehouse with the nuclear symbol on the door.'
The radio crackled again. 'I can hear your soldiers coming down the tunnel, General,' said Rowles. 'If anybody tries to enter this warehouse, I'll detonate.'
'He will, too,' I said. 'He has… issues.'
Blythe narrowed his eyes, thinking hard. He hit the transmit button. 'What do you want, son?'
'I want to kill you,' spat Rowles, full of hatred. 'With a knife, not a gun. Slowly. I want to cut you up, piece by piece. I want to gouge out your eyes, puncture your eardrums, rip out your tongue, slice off your nose, pull out your nails and teeth and hair, cut off your cock and make you eat it, then very, very slowly push my knife into your brain through your eye socket and stir.'
Christ.
'I told you,' I said. 'Issues.'
