Invasion Read Online Free Page B

Holy One. Had he caused some offence? Imparted some slight?
    Khathami’s yellowed teeth glowed in the darkness. ‘Relax, Faris. As much as you would have me believe that your place is at my side, I know that the soldier inside you craves the roar of battle.’ He raised a bony finger. ‘I trust those paratrooper wings on your tunic are more than a soldier’s vain decoration?’
    Mousa was both relieved and perplexed. He offered a slight bow. ‘I am at your service, your Eminence.’
    ‘You will command an airborne unit that will seize control of Whitehall in London,’ Khathami explained. ‘When we return to Baghdad you will organise transport on to Cairo, where you will be met by your new liaison officer, a Major Karroubi. He will brief you on the details.’ Mousa began to speak, but Khathami cut him short with a raised hand. ‘Do not concern yourself now, Faris. The mission plans have already been rehearsed many times. Your new men will not disappoint and Major Karroubi has come highly recommended. What is important is that I have your eyes and ears on the ground in England.’ Khathami paused, his voice suddenly quiet as he gazed up at the stars in the night sky. ‘It is a strange land, Britain. Although we are strong there, I believe the Infidels have the potential to resist us. That’s why I need you there, Faris, my best and most gifted warrior.’
    Mousa felt the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, the Holy One’s words triggering strong emotions.
    ‘I will not fail you,’ he breathed, taking Khathami’s offered hand and kissing it reverently. The old man smiled briefly and turned towards the waiting helicopter. Mousa followed behind, exhilaration coursing through his veins. He was going to war against the Infidels, about to become a major player in events that would see the maps of Europe redrawn, a witness to Islam’s resurgent history. It was once said that the Holy One could see into the minds and hearts of men, to know their private thoughts and feelings. For a brief moment Mousa almost believed those peasant superstitions.
    As they boarded the Blackhawk, Mousa ran through a mental checklist . At 44, he was still in good shape, but a five-mile run every morning for the next few days wouldn’t hurt. Some refresher parachute jumps too, and time on the weapons ranges. As the rotor blades reached full speed, Khathami gestured to Mousa, tapping his headphones. Mousa dialled in his own headset to the internal comms channel.
    ‘You will never make a politician,’ Khathami chuckled, his voice crackling through the headphones. ‘It is plain to see the joy in your heart. You are ready for the task ahead?’
    Mousa’s brief surge of excitement had passed and now his professionalism took over. He spoke with quiet determination. ‘Whatever it is, I will ensure its success, your Eminence.’
    ‘I do not doubt it, General Mousa. It shall be written. In one month, the continent of Europe will no longer exist.’
    ‘Insha’Allah,’ smiled the General.
     

Crisis Management Centre : 11th June: 1 0 .44 am
    H arry Beecham, the British Prime Minister, shifted impatiently in his chair and glanced at the men and women around the conference table, wondering if they detested this room as much as he did. Lately he seemed to be spending far more time in the fortified bunker beneath Downing Street and he didn’t like it. In fact, if truth be known, Harry was a little claustrophobic.
    He glanced up at the reinforced concrete ceiling as the discussions continued around him. Twenty-seven feet above was the rear garden of Number Ten. Twenty-seven feet. It was like being in a tomb – a modern, high-tech tomb, of course, with direct subterranean access to Downing Street and the Ministry of Defence, but a tomb nonetheless. Harry had been reliably informed on his first visit that the complex, constructed in great secrecy in the 1960s, could withstand a nuclear attack in the ten-kiloton region. Harry was more