“Let me tell you my way of thinking,” Kellner continued. He held his two index fingers in the air, as if to frame what he had to say. “I know you’re scared of Scorpia; you’ve made that much clear. Well, I’ve read their demands and personally I think they’re a bunch of idiots. But either way, they’ve given us a chance to call their bluff. Redirecting this football team is the last thing we want to do. We can use the arrival of the plane to test this so- called Invisible Sword. And by sixteen minutes past seven we’ll know it doesn’t exist and we can put Scorpia’s letter where it deserves to be—in the bin!”
“You’re willing to risk the lives of the players?”
“There is no risk. We’ll throw a security blanket around Heathrow Airport, making it impossible for anyone to get near them. The letter states that the players are going to be hit at exactly seven fifteen. We can find out exactly who’s on the plane. Then we can make sure that there are a hundred armed soldiers surrounding it when it lands. Scorpia can bring out their weapon and we’ll see exactly what it is and how it works. Anyone tries to set foot in the airport, we’ll arrest them and throw them in jail. End of story; end of threat.”
“And how are you going to put a hundred extra armed guards into Heathrow Airport?” Sir Graham asked.
“You’ll start a national panic.”
Kellner grinned. “You think I can’t make up some sort of spin to take care of that? I’ll say it’s a training exercise. Nobody’ll even blink.”
The permanent secretary sighed. There were times when he wondered if he wasn’t getting too old for this sort of work—and this was definitely one of them. There remained one final question. But he already knew the answer.
“Have you put this to the prime minister?” he asked.
“Yes. While you were speaking to MI6, I was talking to him. And he agrees with me. So I’m afraid on this matter you’re overruled, Sir Graham.”
“He’s aware of the risks?”
“We don’t believe there are any risks, actually. But it’s really very simple. If we don’t act now, we’ll lose the chance to see this weapon in action. If we do this my way, we force Scorpia to show their hand.” Sir Graham Adair stood up. “There doesn’t seem to be anything more to discuss,” he said.
“You’d better get on to MI6.”
“Of course.” Sir Graham moved to the door. He stopped and turned round. “And what happens if you’re wrong?” he enquired. “What happens if these players do somehow get killed?” Kellner shrugged. “At least we’ll know what we’re dealing with,” he said. “And they lost every single one of their games while they were in Nigeria. I’m sure we can put together another team.” The plane landing at Heathrow was a Boeing 747—flight number BA 0074 from Lagos. It had been in the air for six hours and thirty-five minutes. It had departed late. There had been a seemingly endless delay in Lagos: some sort of technical fault. Scorpia had arranged that, of course. It was important the plane followed the schedule that they had imposed. It had to land by five past seven. In fact it hit the runway at five minutes to.
The eighteen members of the football squad were sitting in business class. They were blank-faced and bleary- eyed, not just from the long flight but from the series of defeats they had left behind them. The tour had been a disaster from start to finish. These were only exhibition games. The results weren’t meant to matter, but the trip had been something of a humiliation.
As they gazed out of the windows, looking at the grey light and the grey tarmac of a Heathrow twilight, the captain’s voice came over the intercom.
“Well, good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to Heathrow. Once again, I’m sorry for the late running of this aircraft. I’m afraid I’ve just spoken to the control tower and for some reason we’re being re-routed away from the main terminal, so we’re going to be out here a little longer. Please remain in your seats with your seat belts fastened, and we’ll have you out of here as soon as we possibly can.” And here was something strange. As the plane taxied forward, two army jeeps appeared from nowhere, one on each side, escorting them along the runway. There were soldiers with machine guns in the back. Following instructions from the control tower, the plane turned off and began to move away from the main buildings. The two jeeps accompanied it.
Alan Blunt stood behind an observation window, watching the 747 through a pair of miniature binoculars. He didn’t move as the plane trundled towards a square concrete holding area. When he lowered the binoculars, his eyes still remained fixed on the distance. He hadn’t spoken for several minutes; he’d barely even breathed.
There is nothing more dangerous than a government that does not trust its own intelligence and security services. Unfortunately, as Blunt was only too well aware, the prime minister had made his dislike of both MI5
and MI6 clear almost from the first day he had come to power. This was the result.
“So what now?” Sir Graham Adair was standing next to him. The permanent secretary to the Cabinet Office knew Alan Blunt very well. They met once a month, formally, to discuss intelligence matters. But they were also members of the same club and occasionally played bridge together. Now he was watching the sky and the runway as if expecting to see a missile streaking towards the slowly moving plane.
“We are about to watch eighteen people die.”
“Kellner is a bloody fool, but even so I can’t see how they’re going to do it.” Sir Graham didn’t want to believe him. “The airport has been sealed off since six. We’ve trebled the security. Everyone is on the highest possible alert. You looked at the passenger list?”
Blunt knew just about everything about every man, woman and child who had boarded the plane in Lagos.
Hundreds of agents had spent the past hour checking and cross-checking their details, looking for anything remotely suspicious. If there were assassins or terrorists on the plane, they would have to be under deep cover.
At the same time, the pilots and cabin staff had been alerted to look out for anything amiss. If anyone so much as stood up before the squad had disembarked, they would raise the alarm.
“Of course we did,” Blunt said irritably.
“And?”
“Tourists. Businessmen. Families. Two weather forecasters and a celebrity chef. Nobody seems to have any understanding of what we’re up against.”
“Tell me.”
