blessing would hear his word, and they would be the ones chosen to determine the fate of the world.
He pushed the duvet back and stepped naked from the bed. The en-suite beckoned, and he walked barefoot across heated tiles to the shower it contained. As the en-suite was a wet room, there was no shower door to open, and he soon had the water running at the correct temperature. Stepping under the downfall, almost moaning with pleasure at the force of the water on his back, he released his bladder, watching the water carry the yellow urine down the drain. It all went to the same place, and twenty-four hours from now, it wouldn’t matter if the whole apartment was smeared with his excrement. This was his last day here. Tomorrow, he would be in France, with his feet up, a beer in his hand. The God he believed in allowed the faithful their worldly pleasures.
9.55AM, 15 th September 2015, London City Airport, London
“Enjoy your trip, sir,” the check in agent said.
“Why thank you. You have a good day.” A smiling Sir Michael Young took his passport and boarding pass and slipped them into the inside pocket of his overcoat. Picking up his carry-on bag, he turned and followed the concierge who had greeted him when his car had dropped him off at the airport. His security detail followed him, having checked in first, and he walked in the direction of passport control, his smile slipping. The day was finally here. The day for him to leave this godforsaken country and never come back.
With his free hand, he pulled out the prepaid burner phone. It was untraceable and encrypted. The last thing he wanted was for those eavesdroppers at GCHQ to listen in on his conversation. He brought up his contacts and dialled the number under the heading ‘car’.
“Hello,” he said, “I enquired about possibly test driving the BMW Z4 you had on your website, but I didn’t hear anything. Is it still available?”
“I’m sorry, sir, that car has already been sold. It is being picked up tomorrow. Are there any other cars you are interested in?”
“Not at the moment, thanks. I’ll get back to you if I see anything, though; right now I’m leaving the country on business.” Young disconnected the call, confident that even if anyone had overheard him or recorded the conversation, it would have meant nothing to them. There was no turning back now. The conversation had been all code of course. The plan was going ahead tomorrow, and he had confirmed to his handler that he was leaving the country. It was hoped that as the head of MI5, he would continue to be of use to the Western intelligence operation, worming his way into it, secreting himself away so as to be further use for his master. And to think he had once been an atheist, but that had all changed ten years ago when his wife had died so violently at the hands of the cancer that had claimed her. Young would swear he had actually seen her body waste away before his eyes as the disease ate her alive. Many people turned away from religion at the death of loved ones, but he went the other way. Because of his position, he was privy to all sorts of information, and months later his discovery of compelling evidence that the international pharmaceutical companies were suppressing natural cancer cures so as to push their expensive and toxic alternatives had pushed him over the edge. The evidence wasn’t strong enough for him, a part of the system that had killed his wife, to take action. Not in a legitimate manner at least. But the man who came to him months later showed him a way he could avenge her – and all those like her – to bring the whole system down. To bring justice to the people who were torn up and destroyed by the system that was supposed to protect them.
And now he secretly worked against Queen and Country, serving a God who had become tired of humanity’s frailties, of its greed and stupidity. He didn’t know exactly what was planned, although he had ideas.
He pushed the duvet back and stepped naked from the bed. The en-suite beckoned, and he walked barefoot across heated tiles to the shower it contained. As the en-suite was a wet room, there was no shower door to open, and he soon had the water running at the correct temperature. Stepping under the downfall, almost moaning with pleasure at the force of the water on his back, he released his bladder, watching the water carry the yellow urine down the drain. It all went to the same place, and twenty-four hours from now, it wouldn’t matter if the whole apartment was smeared with his excrement. This was his last day here. Tomorrow, he would be in France, with his feet up, a beer in his hand. The God he believed in allowed the faithful their worldly pleasures.
9.55AM, 15 th September 2015, London City Airport, London
“Enjoy your trip, sir,” the check in agent said.
“Why thank you. You have a good day.” A smiling Sir Michael Young took his passport and boarding pass and slipped them into the inside pocket of his overcoat. Picking up his carry-on bag, he turned and followed the concierge who had greeted him when his car had dropped him off at the airport. His security detail followed him, having checked in first, and he walked in the direction of passport control, his smile slipping. The day was finally here. The day for him to leave this godforsaken country and never come back.
With his free hand, he pulled out the prepaid burner phone. It was untraceable and encrypted. The last thing he wanted was for those eavesdroppers at GCHQ to listen in on his conversation. He brought up his contacts and dialled the number under the heading ‘car’.
“Hello,” he said, “I enquired about possibly test driving the BMW Z4 you had on your website, but I didn’t hear anything. Is it still available?”
“I’m sorry, sir, that car has already been sold. It is being picked up tomorrow. Are there any other cars you are interested in?”
“Not at the moment, thanks. I’ll get back to you if I see anything, though; right now I’m leaving the country on business.” Young disconnected the call, confident that even if anyone had overheard him or recorded the conversation, it would have meant nothing to them. There was no turning back now. The conversation had been all code of course. The plan was going ahead tomorrow, and he had confirmed to his handler that he was leaving the country. It was hoped that as the head of MI5, he would continue to be of use to the Western intelligence operation, worming his way into it, secreting himself away so as to be further use for his master. And to think he had once been an atheist, but that had all changed ten years ago when his wife had died so violently at the hands of the cancer that had claimed her. Young would swear he had actually seen her body waste away before his eyes as the disease ate her alive. Many people turned away from religion at the death of loved ones, but he went the other way. Because of his position, he was privy to all sorts of information, and months later his discovery of compelling evidence that the international pharmaceutical companies were suppressing natural cancer cures so as to push their expensive and toxic alternatives had pushed him over the edge. The evidence wasn’t strong enough for him, a part of the system that had killed his wife, to take action. Not in a legitimate manner at least. But the man who came to him months later showed him a way he could avenge her – and all those like her – to bring the whole system down. To bring justice to the people who were torn up and destroyed by the system that was supposed to protect them.
And now he secretly worked against Queen and Country, serving a God who had become tired of humanity’s frailties, of its greed and stupidity. He didn’t know exactly what was planned, although he had ideas.
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