of blocking the main motorways had begun. Each blockage explained as either a severe traffic accident, or some truck losing its load across all four lanes. Again, those cover stories were only going to last a few hours at best; if they were lucky, until tomorrow morning.
Most of the main oil storage depots had, by now, been garrisoned with soldiers. The oil out there in the wider distribution system; the tankers, the bigger petrol stations - all of them would need to be requisitioned at some point, but that was a very visible process, and could only be done at the last possible moment.
The trick here was going to be not to spook the general population. Malcolm’s advice had been that they had to keep them doing whatever they normally do, for as long as possible. That was his job, the Prime Minister’s job, to keep everyone happy and calm for as long as he could. Malcolm had wryly quipped that Charles’ role now was to be nothing more than the string quartet on the promenade deck of the Titanic.
Just keep them happy with your reassuring smile, and words of encouragement.
In the meantime, for as long as the public could be fooled, they had to get as many of their boys as they could back from Iraq and guarding key assets in the time they had. They had to get their hands on as much of the oil and food as was spread out there in warehouses and oil terminals.
It meant doing what he did best - bullshit the public for as long as possible.
Time was running out.
The travel lock-down was going to be explained as a ‘largescale unspecified threat’ picked up by their secret services. That would also help to explain the higher than normal military traffic that people would undoubtedly have already noticed. There would be questions about the worsening situation in the Middle East, and whether that and the cessation of oil production from the region had anything to do with these ‘security’ measures.
And here he’d have to deliver the Big Lie, and he’d better do it convincingly.
‘No,’ muttered Charles aloud, staring at his reflection, knitting his dark eyebrows and narrowing his photogenic eyes; producing a very believable expression of sincere concern which he projected exclusively at the listener in the mirror. He backed it up with a reassuring nod as he continued.
‘There’s no link other than a general heightened security level. We have a healthy strategic reserve of crude oil to see us through this temporary upset. Potential choke points in oil supply, particularly from an unstable region like the Middle East, is something we have prepared for long in advance, and there is certainly no need for anyone to panic.’
His secretary was back, shuffling uncomfortably just outside the door once more. Charles could visualise him with his fist raised and knuckles hovering inches from the wooden door, agonising over whether to knock again, but knowing that he must.
‘It’s all right,’ shouted Charles, loosening his tie ever so slightly and undoing the top button of his shirt to affect that tousled ‘I’ve-just-been-dragged-away-from-my-desk-to-tell-you-how-I’m-fixing-things’ look. He rolled up his sleeves for good measure. It was all about appearances. The right tone of voice, the right facial expression, the right look for the occasion. He’d learned a lot of that watching Tony Blair, a brilliant performer during moments of crisis.
Charles nodded at the reflection. He looked like a man who’d been working hard through the night but now had a firm handle on things.
‘I’m ready.’
CHAPTER 27
3.42 p.m. local time Al-Bayji, Iraq
Mike stared down at the corpse of the young man.
Amal had died quickly, only perhaps a minute or two after being dragged to safety behind the Land Cruiser. The bullet that had knocked him to the ground had also ripped a lung to shreds on its way through. Amal had died gurgling blood and struggling desperately for air in Mike’s arms. His shirt, a Manchester United football shirt, was almost black with blood that was already congealing, drying in the heat of the afternoon.
Mike chugged a mouthful from his water bottle. The platoon medic had circulated some of the bottled water around the men half an hour earlier, and now that the situation outside had calmed down, he realised how dehydrated he’d become through the morning.
Farid squatted in the shade of the vehicle a few feet from him. He said nothing and stared at the body of the young lad, but Mike sensed the old man was actually studying