‘Stay down,’ she ordered the others, except the bodyguard who had his weapon cocked on the opposite side. They spoke without words and fell into a dual pairing as they would if they were clearing a room together.
‘What route are you taking?’ she asked the driver, facing the front.
‘A13.’
She nodded and kept looking around. They saw Marine One take off, and the decoy full of Secret Service agents flanked it. They’d never know which one carried the president. She radioed ahead to the gate, and it was flung open as they sped out towards the autoroute.
As they reached the quiet of the main road, Helen’s body didn’t relax.
‘Keep all windows and doors locked,’ she said.
‘Did you see them coming?’ she asked the guard. He shook his head. Like everyone, he’d just heard the windows smash.
‘Are you alright?’ she asked him, noticing two nails sticking out of his hand.
‘It’s nothing,’ he replied.
She was now out of range to hear Roy, and he’d have switched to a different channel anyway as all his efforts were to keep the president safe. Soon, they’d have the PM back in the confines of the embassy, which had already been told to prepare for the highest alert scenario. No one else in and no one out.
‘I need to call my wife,’ the prime minister said. Helen thought he might vomit and looked around for a bag. The driver indicated the glove compartment, and she handed him a sick bag. He spoke briefly to his wife and placed his mobile back in his pocket.
‘What a major balls-up,’ he said. Helen remained looking forward as she prepared to be blamed for everything that had just unfolded.
‘My guess, sir, is that they were built on site.’
She’d flagged the scenario several times, but it had still happened under their noses, and she had no idea how. The question was who were the assemblers and how had they got the necessary equipment past the dogs. Particularly the explosive. Helen knew better than to postulate and trusted everything would become clear as the inevitable inquiry was rolled out. She wondered if Fawaz had been on site.
‘ETA at the embassy is seven minutes, sir,’ she said, looking at the satnav.
‘Put the radio on,’ the prime minister ordered. The driver did so. ‘It’s in damn French,’ he said.
Helen translated. The news had hit the media and Versailles was in lockdown.
‘Seven dead, thirteen injured. The French president and the German chancellor are unhurt.’
‘That’s a shame,’ The Prime Minister’s acerbic humour was legendary. Helen watched as two of the security vehicles pulled in front of the armoured car and two remained behind. The PM’s personal bodyguard communicated to the other cars and they agreed a dummy route. Pedestrians stood and stared at the spectacle.
‘Who did the final check of the undercarriage of this vehicle?’ she asked.
‘No one’s been near it since it left the embassy this morning,’ the driver confirmed.
She was worried about tracking devices but trusted the prime minister’s team to do a thorough job. She dialled Peter’s number and checked in. He’d been in the room behind the Hall of Mirrors when the shit hit the fan and watched them leave. He remained back at Versailles to help the emergency services.
‘It’s carnage. The Americans are working on one of the failed drones already. They’re trying to trace the signal it used before it cut out due, they think, to not identifying its facial target in the time allotted to it. I’ve seen one of them – C4 ready to go, all still intact – it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.’
‘Manufacture?’ she asked.
‘Parts any Joe can order online from Amazon.’
‘My money is on them originating in Mustafa ibn Tafila’s workshop,’ she said. ‘ETA is six minutes, I’ll call you when we’re inside the Embassy.’ She hung up.
The atmosphere was eerily quiet as they drove in a cavalcade of five towards the Bois de Boulogne. She swallowed hard and needed water, but she ignored her thirst.
The park was busy as always and people stared at the entourage, some, no doubt, having heard the news about the attack on Versailles. The ancient seat of kingship, turned into an iconic trophy of the end of all wars, now turned into a bloodbath by a very different enemy.
Her hands still grasped her weapon tightly, and she wasn’t happy to flick the safety on until they were inside the embassy compound. She was reminded of Afghanistan, where she’d been travelling behind a Warrior IFV when it ran over an IED and exploded, throwing its two cannon operators twenty feet in the air like dolls. The men inside were toasted alive.
They neared the Jardin d’Acclimatation, and soon they’d be on the Champs-Élysées.
The vehicle in front leapt five feet off the ground and an ear-piercing bang made the driver swerve. Helen knew straight away that it had driven over an IED. Their vehicle stopped, and she side-glanced at the driver, who was reaching inside his jacket. She raised her weapon with seconds unfolding before her as her rules of engagement flashed before her. She was unaware of the prime minster or Sir Conrad screaming, only that this man was reaching for a weapon. Disbelief made her hesitate, but his face said it all: he was reaching to aim at her. His face crumpled in determination and he failed to respond to her demands to communicate with her. She made a split-second decision.
She shot him between the eyes and blood spurted onto the car ceiling. She turned to the prime minister and Sir Conrad who stared at her horrified.
‘Get down!’ The bodyguard shielded both of them with his physical presence and nodded to her, oblivious to his injuries. The cavalcade had stopped dead and Special Forces were spilling out of cars, pointing weapons, taking cover behind car doors and crawling along the ground. She grabbed the body of the dead driver
