Brace Yourselves!

By Richard Sloane

A massive power cut hits London and Jack Sanderson is called unexpectedly to a COBRA meeting. There the Prime Minister tells the Committee about a warning she has received that climate activists will close down the national electricity grid – unless she starts taking steps within the next two weeks to reverse climate change. Soon though, he’s desperately trying to prove blackmail, murder and cyber terrorism by a rich businessman with Russian connections. Can he do it in time to prevent another major power outage? Read on….

This is the fifth in the Jack Sanderson series of political thrillers, set a few years in the future, which also include The Double Conspiracy, Traitor in our Midst, The Dirty Bomb Affair and The Drone Attack.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jul 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9781728355047

Book preview

BRACE

Yourselves!

RICHARD SLOANE

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AuthorHouse™ UK

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Bloomington, IN 47403 USA

www.authorhouse.co.uk

Phone: UK TFN: 0800 0148641 (Toll Free inside the UK)

UK Local: 02036 956322 ([phone] from outside the UK)

© 2020 Richard Sloane. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 07/21/2020

ISBN: 978-1-7283-5505-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-5504-7 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1 Thursday Evening

Chapter 2 Friday Am

Chapter 3 Friday Pm

Chapter 4 Saturday Am

Chapter 5 Saturday Pm To Sunday Pm

Chapter 6 Monday Am

Chapter 7 Monday Pm

Chapter 8 Tuesday Am

Chapter 9 Tuesday Pm

Chapter 10 Wednesday Am And Afternoon

Chapter 11 Wednesday Evening

Chapter 12 Thursday

Chapter 13 Friday

Chapter 14 Saturday Am

Chapter 15 Saturday Pm To Sunday Evening

Chapter 16 Monday

Chapter 17 Tuesday

Chapter 18 Wednesday Morning 4.45 To 8.45

Chapter 19 The Rest Of Wednesday

Chapter 20 Thursday

Chapter 21 Mopping Up

About The Author

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would especially like to thank Hester Goddard, my critical friend and super- editor, for pointing out multiple idiocies in my original manuscript. Hopefully, I’ve corrected most of these now. I would also like to offer my gratitude to my friend, Michael Black, for reading this through and making some very pertinent suggestions about changing the names of some of the characters. My thanks should also go to the team at Authorhouse UK for producing such a good-looking book so quickly.

Richard Sloane 2020

WARNING!

This file is not to be opened or read

by anyone under an A+ security

clearance on pain of the direst penalties

up to and including treason.

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CHAPTER 1

THURSDAY EVENING

I was working late hunting one cold February evening and pecking away on my keyboard as usual, when suddenly the lights went out and my computer screen went blank. It was quite unusual to have power cuts these days and I kicked myself for not backing up my work, knowing I’d have to start all over again. I waited a few seconds for the emergency generators to kick in which they duly did. Then I thought to look out of the window but all I could see was a massive pall of darkness over London. This was very unusual and I wondered what poor sod was going to lose his job over it. I also wondered how all the unfortunate commuters who were struggling to get home were faring.

I continued working for a while longer but then I was interrupted by the trilling of my mobile phone. At least something was still working. Very few people had my number and I assumed it was my darling wife, Pamela, ringing to find out what was going on. But it wasn’t. It was Peter, the secretary of the COBRA committee and one of the PM’s most trusted aides, calling to ask me to get over to the Committee room asap. This was an order which couldn’t be refused and, after ringing upstairs to my boss, Sir Maurice, who rarely left the building these days except on Sundays, to tell him where I was going, I made a quick call home to Pamela.

She picked up on the first ring and said, ‘Jack, what’s going on?’

‘I’m not sure,’ I replied, ‘but apparently there’s just been an emergency meeting of the Committee convened which means I may not be able to make it home until very late.’

She was well aware of the exigencies of my job and just sighed and said, ‘OK. And here was I, hoping for a candlelit dinner.’

‘Postpone it. Have to dash now. Love you,’ and hung up before she could ask any more questions.

Grabbing my coat, I rushed out of my office past my secretary’s empty chair – she had already left some time before – and down to the basement car park to pick up my car for the short drive across the river. But, when I got there, I thought of all the traffic chaos there must be outside after the power cut and changed my mind, deciding it would be quicker to walk or, in this case, run.

Fortunately, I was still in pretty good shape – I tried to go jogging with Pamela whenever I could – and, as I ran through the streets, which were even more traffic-clogged than usual as the traffic lights still weren’t working, and across Waterloo bridge, I wondered what the flap was all about. Surely it couldn’t just be the power cut, could it? But then I remembered a briefing we’d had about the potential vulnerability of our power supplies, especially after the 5G network was partly installed by a Chinese company some time after the Americans had warned us specifically against doing this, and of the terrorist implications that could result. But surely the Chinese wouldn’t dare to attack us now, would they? After all, as far as I was aware, relations with them were getting warmer all the time, especially as we’d just signed a massive trade deal with them. Why would they attack an important trading partner? So my thoughts were spinning around like hamsters on a wheel but I knew that something must be seriously wrong to call an unscheduled meeting of the Committee.

Perhaps now might be a good time to give a little background on myself. My name is Jack Sanderson and I’m Director of Operations at MI5, responsible only to my boss, Sir Maurice, the Director-General, and, through my long-standing membership of the COBRA Committee, the PM. I think that will do for now.

It took me about 25 minutes to get to the Treasury building through the drizzle, by which time the lights had all come on again and the traffic was starting to flow. I arrived a sweaty, panting mess but I knew that many of my colleagues would be in the same state so I didn’t worry about it. Sartorial elegance was certainly not the order of the day when the Committee was summoned unexpectedly. After that it was just a matter of showing my ID to the soldier on duty and I was quickly off down the long tunnel under the building to the large, anonymous room below Whitehall where the Committee met.

When I got there, I showed my ID again to one of the PM’s aides who ticked me off on a list before deferentially opening the door. The PM herself wasn’t there yet and I looked with interest at the other faces arrayed around the room to see who’d arrived before me, nodding to Peter who was sitting at the foot of the long table, before plonking myself down in an empty chair next to James, my counterpart in MI6 and an old friend.

‘What’s going on, James?’ I asked.

‘No idea, mate, but it would seem to be too much of a coincidence to call a meeting during the biggest power cut in years. Wouldn’t you agree?’

‘Yes, unfortunately I would,’ I replied. But we didn’t have time to say any more as the PM swished into the room, accompanied by an aide and looking as glamorous and immaculately groomed as ever. However, I knew there was an icy brain inside her perfect exterior.

‘Thank you for coming so promptly, ladies and gentlemen,’ she started but then continued immediately, ‘However, it looks like we have something of a crisis on our hands. I don’t know if any of you have heard anything but this has just appeared on the dark web,’ and here she pulled out a memory stick from a pocket of her skirt and plugged it into the computer sitting on the desk in front of her. Then she tapped a key and a letter came up:

‘Dear Prime Minister,

In spite of all our protests and the weight of the evidence in respect of climate change, we have seen no concrete action taken by the government, just a lot of empty promises. This is why we feel we have no alternative but to take direct action. We have the ability now to shut down the entire national grid whenever we want and have already given you a demonstration of our power at 5.48pm earlier this evening. Another will follow later at 7.33pm. These will become more widespread, of increasing regularity and for longer periods of time unless:

1) You shut down all existing coal-fired power stations within two weeks. As you may know, there are still 3 of them operating in spite of government commitments to close them all by 2025.

2) You bring forward the deadline for zero CO2 emissions from 2050 to 2032 as a binding commitment within two months, relying only on renewable (and, unfortunately, nuclear) energy from 2032.

3) You put a 10% tax on all flights leaving and arriving in the UK likewise within two months, with the revenue generated going exclusively to point 4 below.

4) You start providing serious funding of at least £1 billion for climate-related research, jobs and apprenticeships within 3 months.

5) You start putting serious pressure on our allies to do the same immediately.

We believe that these demands, although not easy to fulfil, are all feasible. You will not hear from us again if you fulfil them all but, if you don’t, and we will know if this is the case, there will be serious and possibly devastating consequences for the country’s electricity supply. We look forward to your positive response via your actions very soon. Signed: Britain Reacts Against Climate Extinction (BRACE). This was followed by a dramatic picture of forests burning, taken, I assumed, from some recent news broadcast.

There were gasps of shock from around the table as people assimilated this but I was scribbling furiously, copying the letter into my notebook in my own version of shorthand. When I’d finished, I looked at my watch and saw it was now 7.18pm. Another 15 minutes to discuss and possibly find a solution to this disaster. I was thinking hard and raised my hand.

‘Yes, Jack? Your thoughts, please,’ the PM said.

‘Well, first, I’ve never heard of this organisation, BRACE. Has anybody?’ Gloomy shakes of the head from around the table. ‘OK. That means we’re dealing either with a new group that has been completely off our radar or an old one that has changed its name. The question that needs answering most urgently, apart obviously from who they are and where they’re based, is, I think, how did this group (or individual) get hold of a way to shut down our national grid if they can really do that? I thought it was supposed to be impregnable. Also are we sure there won’t be any further demands? Presumably they are not amateurs who think they can just go on blackmailing the government indefinitely.’ And there I stopped, having temporarily run out of steam.

‘Another vital question is: Is there a foreign power pulling the strings?’ James said now and there were nods of agreement from around the room.

‘Well,’ the PM said morosely, ‘the answer to Jack’s second question should become clearer in the fullness of time but the first needs the most attention now, I think. Is there a traitor in our midst somewhere who’s selling or giving away our national secrets, possibly out of some misguided sympathy for these environmental terrorists?’

This had been exactly my own thought but I was glad that the PM had voiced it and not me. After all, I couldn’t go around offending, let alone accusing, senior members of the government, many of whom were sitting around this table, without a ton of evidence. And evidence was in very short supply at the moment. I looked at my watch again: 7.29. Four more minutes. Then something else occurred to me. ‘PM, you said that the letter had appeared on the dark web. Does that mean that the newspapers will have got hold of it?’

‘I’ll leave Gerry to answer that one,’ she replied. ‘He’s my IT specialist and the one who brought the letter to my attention.’ And now she turned to the young chap with long, blond hair tied back in a ponytail she’d brought in with her, who I’d noticed but dismissed as an ordinary aide.

‘Unfortunately,’ he said, looking rather awkward at being thrust into the limelight, ‘I’m afraid it probably does. Even the dark web isn’t as dark as it once used to be. And it also means it’s going to be that much harder, if not impossible, to track the source.’

‘Well, you’re going to have some explaining to do to the media then, I guess, PM,’ I said and she nodded gloomily.

Then something else occurred to me and I addressed another question to Gerry. ‘Is there any way for us to set up some kind of dialogue with these people?’