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SNAFU Part 50

by Angharad

This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.

*****

A quick bit of research showed me that the Swan Theatre was the one being used, it’s a smaller one on the side of the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, and presumably tonight’s show would be to the great and the good, as well as the president.

Any of it would be an easy target, it’s not designed as a place of refuge it’s a place for easy access—if you can climb stairs—disabled people might dispute the access thing. However, the road will be cordoned off, the river will be watched even perhaps the sky after the embassy attack—so how the hell will the bombers get in?

I pondered this while I waited for the rest of my team and the simple answer was the bomber would walk in carrying the explosive—some sort of undetectable variety—get as close to his or her target and detonate it. It isn’t rocket science. There will be accomplices, so perhaps the explosive will be one they assemble there—in the toilets or even in the foyer.

It was to be another Muslim person who would be sacrificed—so they’ll be seen as responsible for starting World War III. Rarely do politicians wait for all the facts, they knee-jerk their way via public opinion to reaction. The irony being that it’s all being caused by a bunch of neo-cons not some brainwashed fundamentalist, augmented by the master of wickedness, Set and his followers of chaos.

I wondered if John had managed to find out any more about those various groups we’d identified, I’m willing to bet if he has it won’t be much—they are ultra secret and I’m pretty sure a cover for this mendacity driven by the dark one.

I got a few minutes sleep with one of my girls stationed in both rooms—mind you Don had a surprise when he came in, John just looked uncomfortable. “Do you have to bring your pussy cats with you?” he asked.

“Definitely, when you’re not here to protect me, what’s a girl to do but have a guard cat?”

“Some guard,” said Don holding himself to the wall in terror, “can you call it off, Jamie?”

“Oh, Don, she’s just waiting for you stroke her tummy.”

“Not from the inside I hope?” he squeaked.

Even John laughed at that and I asked the cats to stand down, they disappeared although I knew they’d just gone into invisible mode for the benefit of my colleagues.

John had alerted the powers that be that an attack was imminent and at the theatre, which of course got pooh-poohed, ‘Everything is under control,’ stuff. He did point out they’d said that about the embassy but they ignored him.

I showered and changed into a clean suit and blouse and a pair of low heeled court shoes—I might need to be fleet of foot, and this time I was wearing a pleated skirt, so running would be possible. Once again I wore a holster on my thigh with my gun strapped in and a further magazine in my little handbag with my lipstick and compact, phone and purse.

John changed into a suit and looked very smart—I’d have to try hard to keep my attention on the job and not his body. Ridiculous—a couple of years ago I thought I was a boy, with no interest in anything ancient and certainly not anything girly. Now look at me—makeup and hormone changed body, long hair and women’s clothes and I happen to love a man. It certainly wasn’t what I was planning on when I was about thirteen, not that I can remember exactly what I did intend other than possibly going to Cambridge just to miff my dad.

I didn’t know if I’d ever get to university now—but if I did, it would have to be Doubting—quite what I’d study, I don’t know but Ancient Egyptian, it ain’t gonna be—no assuming I survive the end of this caper, I might do medicine or law or something useful like become a plumber.

John and I were going inside the theatre, Don would be our liaison outside. He’d be monitoring as much as he could all passing traffic while we scrutinised those inside. Everyone would have to be there an hour before the top VIPs arrived, and that included us. We took my mini and discovered we couldn’t park it within half a mile of the place—the gusty wind did wonders for my hairstyle, I don’t think and I had to borrow a comb from John to tidy my tresses when we arrived.

Once again we were searched despite wearing our sheriff’s badges, and my producing a weapon from under my skirt got loads of comments—none of them helpful. I did remind my searcher of my double 0 status so not to piss me off. The look he gave me was not one of happiness, nor the growl he made as he gave me my gun back.

The holster is a pain, it’s not terribly comfortable, the gun is heavy, and I can’t cross my legs without shooting myself in the foot—but it does mean I have a sporting chance if the bad guys show up with shooters—not sure about them, mind.

Inside the theatre, I wondered where a bomb blast would do the most damage—if you miss your target, kill or maim as many as possible—a fundamental of terrorism. Something wasn’t right, I was missing something. I glanced around and suddenly had a bit of intuition—what if they weren’t going to blow her up, and any bomb here would be a distraction—what if they were going to do something else—like what? A sniper would be quite literally a long shot, but poison gas—now there’s a thought.

I spoke to John. He thought it was ludicrous and was sure that the bad guys would stick to a proven method, explosives. I wasn’t so sure. It would need quite a large quantity to do a whole theatre, even a smallish one like the Swan. Air conditioning had to be favourite. I found one of the management team and asked about the last time it was checked.

“It’s done regularly because of things like Legionnaire’s Disease.”
“And last time?”

He went and got some sort of logbook, “Here we are, last week—different chap.”

“Different?” I asked as the hair on the back of my neck stood up.

“Yeah, usually the guy is one called Dan Crosby, but this was—can’t read the writing, Oliver something.”

My tummy flipped. “Okay, I want to see it, the pump and tank or whatever.”

“We can’t, the president will be here in half an hour.”

“We can and we’re going to.”

“I really must protest, Captain Curtis, neither of us are exactly dressed for messing with the maintenance of this place.”

“Where is the main tank?”

“On the roof, of course.”

It had to be, especially as I don’t like heights. However, I insisted that we checked it. Perhaps I should have asked John, he was actually wearing trousers. He saw me rushing off with the manager and came running after us.

“Wossup?”

“I have a feeling the air-conditioning has been tampered with and is there a gas called Sarah?”

“Not as far as I know, there’s a nerve gas called sarin—horrible stuff, it’s been banned—they used it in Japan in the nineteen nineties some terrorist group called Aum something or other, killed a dozen or so people. Surely you don’t think they’d try that here? You do, don’t you?”

I nodded. “They could do it three ways, carry little bombs of it and detonate them in the theatre, do it through the air conditioning or, through the sprinkler system.”

“It’s not terribly stable if I remember correctly,” suggested John, “Doesn’t keep too well, they had stocks of it in Iraq, broke down before they could use it, thankfully.”

“If this was planted last week...”

“Okay, okay, we’ll take a look.”

The two men rushed off and I waited anxiously for them to return. Fifteen minutes later, they did shaking their heads. “Nothing there at all, looks like rain though.”

“Sprinklers—that’s got to be it.”

“Well, Miss Smartarse, it can’t be, they come off the water main. If you want to see to that, you’ll have to get through inspection covers to do so. That was checked last week by the fire service.” The manager wasn’t impressed by my hunches.

“Can I see the log, please,” I smiled. He sighed but went to get it.

“There, Oliver somebody.”

“That’s the same signature as on the air conditioning.”

“So it is,” at least he allowed me that.

“I reckon, Oliver has been here,” I said to John.

“He certainly gets around, I thought you were going to fix him once and for all?”

“He keeps getting harder to fix,” I replied.

“The president will be here in five minutes—get to your places.”

The manager disappeared and I went after him, and John followed me. We could hear the hubbub growing as the VIPs neared the theatre.

“What d’you want now?” asked the manager.

“The sprinklers come on when there’s smoke or heat?”

“It needs both, but mostly heat.”

“So a fire or bomb?” asked John.

“Either would do it.”

“I can’t see anyone getting a bomb inside—I don’t think they’d let a ham sandwich in.”

“They don’t need one.”

“What d’you mean, Jamie?”

“Oliver is here, all he needs to do is force me to neutralise him and that will provide a heat rise.”

“Couldn’t you do it without the lasers?”

“I don’t know—but I suspect not—he’s going to cause such mayhem that he’ll force me to invoke the goddess and once that happens, everyone will be dead in minutes.”

“They like their safety equipment, don’t they?”

“The irony isn’t lost on me.” How could I do this without killing several hundred—but Oliver was there, he was tormenting me to attack him. Or his handler was. Oliver is a thought form, so he needs someone to control him, now if I could spot the controller, maybe we’d even things up a little, especially if I could get them outside.

I dashed up to the circle and scanned the crowds, someone was either prepared to die for their cause, or they had a gas mask and full bio/Germ warfare suit. Nobody stood out as obviously controlling Oliver. Then what if he didn’t need to be out in front of house—what if he caused me to attack him back stage or underneath it? Presumably the fire alarm would go off and the sprinklers would emit their lethal mist.

I was tempted to leave—without me they’d be stuck for an incendiary device, but then again, Oliver would be able to kill the president by himself. Then I had a brainwave. I called John and sent him off to administer my suggestion. He nodded and disappeared just as the secret service men accompanying the president arrived with her just behind them, dwarfed by their size; mind you so would I.

I gave John five minutes, after the president settled into her seat and the buzz died down to now do my job and protect her. I went to find Oliver and once I did, I was going to nuke him.

Everywhere there were security people, ours or the Americans, many of them knew me now, at least by sight so I got winks and nods as I moved towards the backstage area.

Sooner or later I would be challenged, this was it.

“You can’t come in here, Miss, this is cast only.” The man who gave me this message wore a brown overall on top of his shirt and tie.

“I was led to believe I could check out anywhere,” I said angrily, although it was more pretence than actual ire.

“Not once the show starts.”

“But I won’t intrude, you’ll hardly know I’m here.”

“Sorry, Miss, you’re not coming in here.” He then made the mistake of looking into my eyes, presumably to show his resolve. I walked round his inert, but still erect body and clicked my fingers, he woke up unaware of what I’d done—sadly, Oliver can do the same. I checked the dressing rooms and the actors waiting to go on stage, Oliver wasn’t there.

One place left to look, under the stage. I went below the dressing rooms and down a set of steps to a door with a padlock. Sadly the padlock was broken and door was unlocked. It was so obvious that Oliver wanted me to find him, especially when I could see the lights were on in the under-stage area, which would otherwise be dark.

I was being set up beautifully, and sure enough, there were smoke and heat detectors under here too. I crossed my fingers and hoped my plan would work, or the casualty rate was going to be enormous.

Where was his controller? I knew where Oliver was, down here—then it dawned on me, the man who I saw in the brown coat—it had to be, but I was expecting an American—then I thought about it—back at the farm when I nearly died, they weren’t Yanks—they were Brits and the poor patsy who was Egyptian.

I went back up to the backstage and searched for the man in the brown coat. I eventually found him standing behind a young female stage manager with a knife to her throat. I withdrew my pistol.

“If you shoot me, I’ll certainly kill her before you get me.”

“Please don’t hurt me,” the woman whimpered.

“In the general scheme of things, you’d be missed by your side more than this young woman would by us.”

“You’re very callous today, Jamie,” he taunted me.

I screwed the silencer on my gun as my response.

The girl watched me do it, then went very white and fainted, as he tried to grab her I fired twice, both shots went into his head and he was projected backwards away from the girl. I covered him up with a blanket and then went and got some assistance. She was led away and someone stayed to guard the body—John.

“What did ya have to shoot him for?”

“I wondered if he had some sort of device on him as a fail safe.”

“Does he?”

“Um—no—oh well, more forms to fill in.” I shrugged and went off in search of Oliver under the stage. He was capable of carrying out his instructions as far as they’d been given to him, but not to deal with new issues.

I went back under the stage having come prepared. He was bent over something.

“Hello, Jamie, come just in time to see me kill a president.”

“I can’t see from back here, Oliver.”

“Come forward then—you won’t stop me.”

I walked carefully round the various lifts under the stage trapdoor systems. To my horror he was leaning over a gun on a stand which was pointing through one of the ventilation grills.

“You can’t see anything through there.” I suggested trying to divert him to let me get close enough to zap him.

“Oh I can see well enough, we marked it up last week, so I just shoot at this point here.”

Now I could smell him, because I knew he wasn’t human, despite his apparent manifestation, I could smell the sulphur of his true being. “She isn’t sitting in that row anymore, we had her swop seats as a normal security manoeuvre.”

“Oh well someone is going to die, then I’ll kill you, Jamie—everything personal, of course.”

“The fat controller is dead.”

“Who might that be?” he asked.

“Your controller, Oliver. I shot him twice in the head.”

“Oh dear, now it will really be personal, won’t it?” He turned and pointed the gun at me but I was now close enough to knock it from his hands with my own weapon.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Jamie, it would have been quicker and less painful than what I’ll have to do now.”

“Rubbish, Oliver, your plans need me to transform and zap you.”

“Do they now, well if you don’t I’ll kill you and if you do you’ll die with everyone else. Good, isn’t it?”

“Good yes, but I’m better, pig-breath.” With that I let fly with the CO2 extinguisher, the very cold gas forming ice on him as he came at me. I let him have the whole of the charge bashing him on his frozen head with the body of the extinguisher. Then grabbing the rifle he was going to use, I took out the cartridges and dropped them in different places.

Once I could see him recovering, I began to run towards the steps, I knew he’d be in hot pursuit. Running up the stairs I felt him behind me. I just made it to the top of the steps and drew level with a window which I flung open. He grabbed me just as daylight shone upon both of us.

I felt myself growing and flung him off me, he laughed as the sun in my headdress began to pulsate and moments later fried him. I heard him pop like an egg in a microwave and felt bits of matter fly all over the place.

I heard footsteps and transformed back into my normal self, it was John. “Jeezuz, Jamie, what a godawful smell.”

“Yeah, barbecued Oliver.”

“Phwar, that is horrible.”

“Better than sarin.”

“Oh yeah, that worked a treat, once we worked out how to turn the water off.”

In a few minutes we had every available window open to rid the place of the smell. People were complaining that the toilets didn’t work, but that could be sorted tomorrow and the gas drained off.

Instead of commendations for saving the president, we got a bollocking from the colonel for not keeping him in the loop. Despite the risk of consequences, I told him if we had, we’d all be dead now—as it was just one of them was.

In punishment, I was sent back to the US embassy for the final night of the visit. I had a feeling it was going to be an eventful one.