Deadvent calendar, p.1
Deadvent Calendar, page 1
Deadvent
Calendar
By:
Ken Kirkberry
Copyright © Ken Kirkberry 2019
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent publisher.
The moral right of Ken Kirkberry has been asserted. ISBN-13: 9781699636497
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Ken Kirkberry is a lifelong daydreamer who has finally placed his thoughts into print.
Ken has been brought up on Sci-Fi in both print and film format. Through the Enlightenment trilogy of books these views are explored. However, with a second love of crime and fantasy Ken has, with this book provided his second fast paced, gripping genre of - Crime.
CONTENTS
Monday, Dec 1st
1
Tuesday, Dec 2nd
5
Wednesday, Dec 3rd
13
Thursday, Dec 4th
19
Friday, Dec 5th
28
Saturday, Dec 6th
39
Sunday, Dec 7th
51
Monday, Dec 8th
60
Tuesday, Dec 9th
67
Wednesday, Dec 10th
78
Thursday, Dec 11th
88
Friday, Dec 12th
92
Saturday, Dec 13th
95
Sunday, Dec 14th
99
Monday, Dec 15th
111
Tuesday, Dec 16th
121
Wednesday, Dec 17th
127
Thursday, Dec 18th
131
Friday, Dec 19th
146
Saturday, Dec 20th
155
Monday, Dec 22nd
157
Monday, December 1
Carl Hughes walked through the final security door, retina detection allowing access to the small but high-tech room. Five desks, each with a large central monitor in front of the seat and seven smaller screens around the main one. Carl walked to his seat, just before sitting he acknowledged the two female colleagues at the desks to the right of his. “Hi Ladies,” he gave a small wave as he spoke.
The first seated woman, who was slightly older than the other women, turned in her seat. Denise said, "Hi, Carl. We will finish in a minute and then it is all yours.”
Smiling as he sat Carl heard a giggle. Turning his head, he caught the younger woman, Charlotte, who was sitting at the desk furthest from his, go red and look the other way. Carl ignored the movement and pushed the keyboard enter button; the GCHQ emblem came up in the middle of the screen requesting logging-in details. Carl entered his password then looked at the facial recognition camera. His screens lit up, showing varied information data and sources.
Charlotte got up and left. Denise stood to follow but stopped and turned back addressing Carl, “I’m sorry Carl, but asking Charlotte out on a date last week was not the best idea.”
Carl went red in the face; “I know…I thought…never mind. Overweight and nerd glasses!”
Denise took a closer step towards her colleague and put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, look the right girl will come along someday. Charlotte is what…barely twenty-one?”
Carl looked up at his colleague. “I’m thirty-eight and have never married, when is someday?"
Denise smiled, “If I was not married?”
Carl giggled, “Thanks, Denise, but I know you never mean it when you say that."
Denise giggled, “I’ll get you a coffee before I go.”
Coffee delivered, Carl sat watching the main screen eyes darting to the smaller screens as text popped up or cameras showed changes. Two hours passed and Carl had managed to bring up a chess game to pass the time. His security surveillance of world communications was essential, but with modern technology, the systems did most of the work for him.
Carl ignored the two-thousandth terrorist word pick up from monitored sources, having to hit acknowledge every time to clear the message. Looking to move his Queen he sat back as his main screen crackled and came up with a Santa Clause figure in the middle with a message:
Ho, Ho, Ho,
Merry Xmas to you all!
The image and message disappeared in a second. Carl went to hit the ‘All Monitors’ button, but one of his other colleagues had got there first. Alert messages sprung up at the bottom of all the screens. Carl started typing in the security code that would block any virus attacks at the same time as recording and seeking where the last five minutes’ messages had come from. His desk phone rang and he picked up the handset, “Carl. What have you got?"
“Nothing yet Boss, but I think it is benign!”
Major Martin, Carl’s superior, added, "Okay. Stay on it, and I will be with you in ten minutes."
Within ten minutes, Major Martin was standing next to Carl. Other colleagues joined Martin. "What do you think, Carl?”
“It has gone…even the recording. I have no trace. Has anyone else got it?”
Martin replied, “No. Ten of you on the monitors and none of you got it. You said it is benign, so we are safe?”
"Yes, Sir. No apparent traces or anything left.”
"Okay, you lead. Triple check then get us back running. I will call the Defence Secretary and advise him. Any more tonight and we shut down."
Tuesday, December 2
Sharon Mansell shouted, "Alexa snooze!" before turning over trying to get back to sleep.
Her husband, Ken, was lying in bed next to her. He is the same age as his wife, although dark-haired to her blonde. He was as physically in shape as her as both had a love of exercise. Ken kicked his leg into Sharon's back, “Get up. It is your turn for tea. I’m hitting the shower.”
Sharon fell out of the bed, whispered something under her breath and left the bedroom heading for the kitchen to make a couple of teas. Little was said between the couple as the daily routine took shape, each using the toilet facilities, showering and dressing alternatively. Tea finished, Ken put on his shoes. “I’m being picked up. I have a meeting out of town. You?”
Sharon took the last swig of her tea, “I’m at the House, some security meeting. I’ll take the scooter.”
Ken kissed his wife and headed out of their London flat. Sharon left ten minutes later, taking the electric scooter the short one-mile ride to the Houses of Parliament. "Morning, Mrs Mansell!" the police guard at the Houses of Parliament’s gate shouted as she arrived.
"Hi, Nick. Do you want to frisk me?" Sharon said with a giggle.
Nick looked at the shapely woman, his age he thought—mid-thirties—fit. "Sorry, Mrs Mansell but your husband is more senior than us both, so I will have to give it a miss. I need my job.”
Sharon laughed as she opened her coat, revealing the holstered weapon above her blouse. Sharon Mansell was one of the new World Communication and Security Team (WCST) and one of the few people allowed into the Houses of Parliament armed.
A short while later and Sharon had joined a meeting. As she looked out of the window over the Thames, taking in the old MI5 building on the opposite side. She felt a nudge to her side. "Look interested, Sharon!” Dean Hamilton her superior whispered as he sat next to her.
“One and a half hours already. Sorry, Boss.” Dean had been Sharon's superior for nearly five years. He too was a military veteran and older by a decade. Although suited, he kept trim for his age and was happy to support the new chiselled beard trend.
---*---
In an office building in Geneva, Helmut Bopp looked out of his office window. From this view, he could see the Palace of Nations, the home of the United Nations opposite. Bopp opened the window slightly and listened while he checked his watch. On-time he thought as he could hear the drums. Closing the window, Bopp turned to put on his coat and exited the office.
"The Secret Drum Corp, Mr Bopp?"
Bopp smiled at his secretary, “Yes. I will take lunch now and listen to them.”
His secretary stood, removed a flask of soup that she had previously heated and gave it to her boss. “It is a little cold today, but tradition must not be broken,” Smiling, she handed over the flask.
Bopp smiled, “Yes. Although my wife does not play for them anymore, listening to them reminds me of how we met." With this, he left the building and took up position next to a lamppost on the kerb and awaited the band parade to come past him. The tradition was popular and more locals were present than tourists, all were standing on one curb. The railings on the other side, by the Palace, were for Police and Security Forces only.
Bopp noticed a lady with a young child behind him. Smiling, he moved a little closer to the lamppost signalling the lady and child to get to the kerb. “Thank you, Sir. And a Merry Christmas!” the child called to Bopp. Bopp smiled and turned to take in the band some ten metres from him. He was humming to the music in his head.
Behind the woman next to Bopp, a fat man stood, his brow was full of sweat even though it was cold. As the band came alongside Bopp, the
---*---
Sharon looked at her silent but vibrating mobile. Taking in the message she immediately whispered to her boss, Dean. “Boss. A suicide bomb in Geneva. I need to go.”
Dean did not reply. Sharon stood, smiled at the meeting chairman, and left the room. Outside in a corridor, she was able to read the message in full. Heading to the secure communications room within the House she asked immediately on entry, "Smith, what is the news from Geneva?"
Agent Smith did not respond but pointed to the BBC news on the screen. Sharon took in the story:
A suicide bomber has struck in Geneva outside the United Nations building. Twenty-three believed dead: men, women, and children, including members of the famous Secret Drum corps…
Sharon sat on a desk and her heart sank. Bastard, she thought. "What is the real news, Smith?"
“Nothing in detail yet. It is too soon.”
"I'll call Sara,” Sara Lietman, her WCST colleague in Switzerland, was not answering and obviously busy. It took three-quarters of an hour before Sara returned the call.
"Hi, Sharon. It is awful, twenty-six dead including eight children who were listening to Christmas songs!”
Sharon could hear the tears in her friend’s voice as she spoke. "I am so sorry, Sara. Is there anything formal? Has anyone claimed responsibility?”
"No, not yet. But we have eyewitness reports suggesting a middle eastern-looking man might have been the bomber."
Sharon thought, “Switzerland. No?”
Sara wiped some tears and hesitated a bit. “The UN building was right opposite but some distance from the bomb. It is not affected.”
"Then, the victims?"
"Too early, my friend. Look, I have to go, but I will update you as soon as we have more." With this, Sara hung up.
Sharon spent the remainder of the afternoon trying to capture as much information as possible using the House’s communication rooms’ facilities to the full. "Hi, dear!" Sharon spoke into her mobile.
“Hi Honey. You have been busy. I guess you are dealing with the Geneva bomb?”
“Yes. It is awful. Children dead!”
"Look, I am with the Home Secretary and we are heading for the House. A COBRA meeting. Will you be there around six when we get there?”
“Yes, I will. Catch you then, honey. Love you."
Sharon saw her husband as he arrived, but they did not have a chance to talk as he headed straight to the Prime Minister’s office then off to the COBRA meeting. Sharon had attended these meetings on occasion, but Ken was the Home Secretary’s permanent civil service advisor. It was just after eight when Ken walked into the House bar, seeing his wife he headed straight to her. Pausing first to kiss her he soon asked, "So what is the news?"
After both Mansell’s sat down Sharon spoke, “We do not think it is a bomb against the UN. As yet none of the victims who are known are involved with the UN, although not all are identified yet.”
Ken held his wife’s hand for a moment and then let go to take the whiskey provided by a waiter. “Thank you. Dean said similar in the COBRA meeting. I am sure he will fill you in. Did Sara provide any more information?”
"No. Sara did speak to me, but until they have all the names, she will not know."
“The bomber? Dean has no idea but possibly a middle-eastern terrorist?”
“Seems like it. Look I’m shattered, can we go home?”
Wednesday, December 3
Ken turned off the TV, having dressed quicker and earlier than usual he had decided to take in the morning news.
“What are they saying?”
Ken looked up at his wife, “Same as yesterday but blaming or at least implicating a variety of terrorist groups.”
Sharon thought, “They know nothing. No messages so far on my side to add anything else. Will your driver drop me at the office as I assume you will be at Downing Street?”
"Yeah, sure. Let's go."
Sharon’s first meeting was a debrief with Dean in their new offices by the Thames—a ten-minute walk from the Houses of Parliament. Sharon had received an update from Sara and various agencies that were interested in the case.
Dean called to Sharon, “Tea?”
“Sure. My head is spinning with this stuff.”
Sat at the table in the small café in the office, Dean asked, “So what have you got?”
“Nothing of any substance or anything that holds a pattern apart from the obvious suicide bomb theory.”
“The victims?”
“Again, no UN or government staff amongst them. Most office workers, a couple of bankers…that's it."
“The band?”
Sharon flicked her tablet screen. “Regardless of the name and the uniform they wear, they are not military. Two killed including the band leader, but again nothing stands out."
“The UN?”
"No, too far from the explosion. No windows were blown out or anything.”
“Strange, a high-profile target area but not a high-profile target?”
Sharon stood, “Not yet. I’ll get back on it.”
Carl was watching the news at his desk, and Geneva was the focus. Major Martin entered the room. "Good evening, Carl. Terrible thing.”
"Yes, Boss. Terrible."
"I have signed off your report about the Santa blip as a one-off for now, but it needs to be monitored.”
"Sorry, Boss. I really cannot see where it came from or what it has done, but it seems to have gone. It’s worrying, though!"
“Okay. We have followed protocol and made the Home Office aware and made COBRA aware but haven’t received a response. This Geneva thing seems to have taken everyone’s time. Anyway…” Martin stopped as Carl interrupted.
“Fuck! It did it again! Look!”
Martin looked at the screen just catching the Santa image disappearing. “What was it? Was it the same? What did it say?”
Carl frantically hit the keys on the keyboard. “Shut up! Sorry, Boss…leave me to get it!”
Carl continued pressing keys, his screen alive with code. Dean pushed the alert button, knowing his whole team would follow suit and lock down the system but still be able to trace the attack or any code or virus left behind.
Carl’s brow began to sweat; he was speaking to himself as he pushed buttons…then he erupted. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Slamming his headphones on the desk, he stood and walked to the wall and hit it with the bottom of his fist.
"Calm down, Carl!” Martin ordered.
Turning around he took a deep breath. "Sorry, Boss. I lost it again, but it was there.”
“What did it say?”
“I think, ‘Ho, Ho, Ho,’ but it had the number two at the end I think?”
Martin thought, “Are you sure. Did you capture it?”
"No. This guy is good. Well, whoever it is they are bloody good!”
"You calm down, and I will check with the others and report it."
---*---
Andy Borist looked at the message on his mobile’s screen after hearing it beep. "Ken, what do you think of this?"
Ken was sitting in the back of the Jaguar next to the Home Secretary. Taking the mobile he read the message, "GCHQ has a blip. That is serious. I will call them, Sir."
