The Sicilian Scenario

Part I

The Sicilian Scenario

Chapter 1

The Assassination

The British Home Secretary stood motionless at the Home Office window, and at intervals mechanically submitted statements to a secretary.

In seconds two explosions rang out like thunderbolts, and he went crashing across the floor.

Three masked gunmen rushed into the room, from the doorway, silencing all the people who had been crowded into the meeting room. They all stood staggered, and too shocked to do anything, but stare. The explosions, large guns, and the execution had been too deadly.

They stared in horror as one of them kicked the Home Secretary’s dead body over. He had clearly died instantly, before he had hit the floor! And they ignored him, and rushed about, checking everything in the room, out of the windows, and continuing with their mission.

Chief Superintendent Swanson had been gently shuffling together the confidential documents that he had just taken, trying to make himself more aware of his surroundings, before the incident had occurred.

He had been extraordinarily affected by the Home Secretary.

There always seemed to be something about top politicians. They had nothing in common with the people that he knew, in any other circles. People, including the media, often viewed them with fascination, not seizing some concept about them.

Swanson had put together the events of the last few days with a little astonishment. A particular mental image had remained in his mind of the president’s worried glare, as he had tried to conceal something from the prime minister. Even behind the shaded windows of the limousine, leaving towards the airfield, to return to the US, he had recognized his assumptions. He had seen the look on previous presidents, but this time it had been incredibly.

Above him, the fluorescent tube had flickered, lightly bringing him out of his deep thoughts, vaguely contemplating why they had switched on the lights; the room did not need it.

He had considered the recent events, and his beliefs that civil disturbances and wars had plagued history, and that what worried the majority of rational people, including him, was whether new crises would some day emerge to replace them. The years that had preceded this terrorist phenomenon were altering, and they now seemed stable and prosperous.

The Home Secretary had hastily perceived the state of affairs and had silently stridden away from them, to the window, leaving them to debate the issues (presumably recalling duties on his agenda).

Swanson’s eyes had fallen onto the officials surrounding him. Yet he had almost had no recognition of the majority of them, and their different positions had eluded him. Their clothes had been immaculate and had been perfectly suited for the occasion, and for the media.

They had been ready to take places at the central table, to conduct the meeting.

The outcome of the assembly might have helped shape the structure of future events, and how they would have proceeded in handling things. In other words, he might well have grasped if they were going to achieve anything. Yet he had gained far more information on what really had occurred, as most of what he had picked up, he certainly did not accept as the truth. (Facts were murky and muddled with the fabricated statements that the media had been concocting). If he could have only gained inside information, he more than likely could have grasped the big picture.

Yet by the reactions of some of the others, who had been eagerly rummaging through the confidential documents, he had become sure that they had included something there.

He had vaguely read parts of them, leaving reading it in detail for later. The meeting had been much more important!

Officials of the Home Office had been gathering at the table. While various members of the police force had silently waited – as if waiting for them to toss everything onto their shoulders. The veins on their heads had appeared to pulsate as though their minds had been going into overdrive, considering all the replies available to sidetrack their attack of commands (which they might not have been even be able to do!).

It had been at this point that the gunmen had rushed in the room, and had killed the Home Secretary (under their noses!).

Once they had taken full control of the room, with one gunman at the doorway, another at the window, the leader of the group positioned himself at the head of the table, and removed a sheet of paper from the table, and studied it.

In stages, Richard Mercer, the MP, who regularly associated with the Home Secretary, shifted over to the most central position of the table, made himself distinct, and showed them that he had things to convey.

Give me that bottle, please! he pleaded, sitting in his seat, putting out his hand for a bottle of mineral water – located further down the table.

Once he took it, he poured it gently into a glass, and touched his side. The contents of the sheet of paper that the gunman held interested him as much as the gunmen, and their actions.

His secretary marched through the door, allowing the door to fly shut behind her. John Wakefield cannot attend, she muttered, searching their faces for a response, "as he left the country – on important business. He may return later though!"

She nervously saw the guns, then the gunmen, and nearly collapsed when she saw the Home Secretary.

Sit down over there, the gunman at the door demanded, and she rushed to the other side of the room, and sat down.

Their leader went to the wall, and watched them.

You will continue with the meeting, he ordered, examining the sheet of paper that he had taken from Richard Mercer, with all the details of the meeting.

Well, where shall we begin? Mercer muttered.

He placed another copy of the form in front of him. Then he rubbed his fingers over its edge.

"Most of you must be well aware of the recent events that have taken place ... However, most of the details that the media has mentioned have been inaccurate.

For some considerable time some Middle East terrorist groups have caused havoc across the globe, he spoke loudly, examining the gunman. "For many years, their ongoing attack against humanity ...! Their campaign of terror has pushed the boundaries of terrorism to new limits – which would have been unimaginable a few years ago.

The war on terrorism has reached new heights! he moaned stridently. "Countries throughout the world have increasingly united to distinguish it as a global problem – enthusiastically helping to capture top terrorists and prevent many major incidents taking place. America has paved the way, refusing to allow them to achieve their goal. Nonetheless, this disease of society, or whatever you wish to think of it, has escalated tremendously! And, according to sources, a terrorist faction has emerged – which so far we have been unable to penetrate. They have gained new powers, and they have supporters across the globe, who shall do anything to help them succeed with their hostilities.

Thus this new faction has attained a considerable quantity of plutonium!

Everyone in the room looked stunned, and listened intensely to every sound that was made – waiting to hear their worst nightmare – or to hear more facts to enlighten them.

Where did they acquire that? Chief Superintendent Tom Hogan coolly argued, ignoring what had happened.

"There is intelligence going about that it came from the Middle East. Some Middle East country might have been to blame ... But I can assure you that the CIA, FBI, and other organizations in many countries are doing their best to find evidence ..."

Where do we come into this?

"They believe that they aim to use what they have to destroy a location in a major city. Possibly a location that is similar to the World Trade Center or Pentagon. Though they do believe that the location will be in either the USA or Britain.

"Maybe at the American embassy or at their military bases ...

"Well – they’ll have to get them and prevent them carrying out their mission."

Swanson, as well as most of the others, perceived his tenseness and the anguish that it indicated.

Swanson sat astonished as he considered that they could have used the bomb to blow up the building! It must be a major target!

Yet he believed in taking things as they happened, and if terrorists had not targeted such a place before then they would not have done it. They would have very likely have stuck to the types of targets that they had bombed (and it surely would not have had the same influence that they were so desperate to get). This terrorist group undeniably would not use such an asset on such a trivial target.

Another secretary rushed into the room, with a form.

Mercer grabbed it, annoyed, but as he read it his attitude instantly altered. I must leave! he pleaded.

You missed the end out, the gunman demanded, pointing at the end of the other confidential paper.

We can go! the gunman at the window announced, pointing at something, outside.

Swanson heard a helicopter approach the building, and watched the gunmen rush out the door, threatening them with their guns.

When it was clear that the gunmen had left the building, he realized that they did not really have any idea of how to handle them. If they used the entire bomb, going by end of the confidential paper, they could destroy central London.

Chapter 2

The Atomic Bomb

The silent rhythm of the Pacific, skimming up the golden beach, gently lured Melinda to sleep. The tropical island was surreal, and like part of a dream. The palm trees about her shimmered against a blue velvet sky, with colors of practically every variation radiating in the blazing sunshine, while the vivacious scents from exotic foliage and the ocean blended in the warm air currents.

Yet, as she fell asleep, a vicious roar of a powerful speedboat blasted out, bringing her out of her slumber – vibrating about her – stirring and enticing her from there, from the sun.

She desired the shade, and clambered to her feet.

The abominable sound grew so loud that it caused her to grit her jaws, and then to lay her startled glare anxiously at the end of the fantastic beach, to where a speedboat, packed with men, was racing ashore.

According to John, her husband, the small island was supposed to be a desert island – which they’d sailed to, in a hired luxury yacht.

Their hostile shrieks captivated her as she stood amid the shades of the palm trees. Even though their figures were distant, their antics gave away their decisiveness, to do something.

While the speedboat caught the rays of the descending sun, the vague crimson glow of the sky over the horizon brought back memories of their previous night, on the holiday boat, nestling at the other side of the island – where she’d walked, on the beach, from. Colors from the sun had been blazing below the skyline, and the bright celestial objects had radiated in the dark blue sky, turning it into a wonderland.

For a long time she smirked and vibrantly recollected her enjoyment. But, again, the sounds returned her to reality. Yet, this time, with shock, she focused her eyes on the end of the beach, at a perpendicular cliff, on a hill, curving into the ocean.

They were shifting about violently – obviously in great danger from something – from a hidden enemy, shooting at them.

A deep blast, from a gun, echoed around the shore, and across the reef, and great pain shot through her ankle – and she collapsed onto the sand. Then she saw blood pouring out, soaking her foot.

In one swift movement she moved in the undergrowth – even though she was not fully convinced that they had shot her. Their mission, whatever that was, had seemed to have seized all of their attention.

As she gripped her foot, in pain, she spotted one of them, in the distance, hidden away, aiming a gun at her. If he had not been as far off the wound might have been more deeper and accurate.

The scene that unfolded left her transfixed. The powerful explosions from army handguns, rifles, and machine-guns shattered the silence of her paradise. And she crouched beneath the palm trees, peering through the tropical plants, almost blind with fear. There were bodies already lying between the rocks, and they continued with no intention of stopping. And it looked little in comparison to the destruction caused by them against the mysterious enemy concealed beyond the hill.

Melinda shifted, ignoring the pain, preparing her mind and body for the great physical exertion that she needed to escape. But, while she jerked, to the gunfire, as it grew, and randomly fired in her direction, she spotted her clothes and handbag.

For a moment, she stayed motionless, stunned, knowing that she could not abandon them. In addition to them being able to learn of her identity, and track her, her handbag held her British passport.

Some of the men endeavored to clamber aboard the speedboat to flee, except the gunfire hideously prevented them attaining it.

Melinda snatched her things with one swipe and scurried amongst the undergrowth.

An abominable thud made her jump, turn, and roll sideways – making sand and pebbles stick to her moist skin and long hair.

She then spotted the offending object – a chunk of vegetation strewn over the sand – fallen from an overhanging tree. She hardly thought of it as a problem, even though she knew that it could have inflicted a grave injury to her.

She shaded her eyes, and clambered upwards, distressed by their fascinating shouts. Their strange variations seemingly coming in many directions, while bordering on being audible and not clear. The odd climate and landscape played with her senses.

It had been a perfect dream holiday and now it was her worst.

They’re getting through! a distinct voice bellowed, from somewhere over at the hill.

Yet she glimpsed the speedboat starting to sink and them running in her direction.

One pointed directly at her, as if introducing some notion to them to either capture her or shoot her.

Absolute horror seized her, preventing her from reacting (though she attempted to reassure herself that there was no verification that they had entirely comprehended her existence). And she rushed into the trees on her hands and knees – ignoring any cuts and bruises – leaving a trail of blood from her foot. Desperately yearning to move deep inland, beyond the trees, away from visibility, and to escape death.

The sun blazed, and the air was roasting. The golden sand glowed brightly and the turquoise ocean sparkled in patches through the trees. Dark shapes emerged, resembling their evil figures, but altered to parts of the vegetation – as her sight constantly adjusted.

Something rummaged around, near her, but she ignored it as the light and free tones were from a small animal.

Finally, she stretched out her painful limbs, feeling dizzy, and she rushed towards a hill. Her main undertaking was to find a hiding place, preferably with a view of her surroundings.

Loud explosions from guns sent flocks of tropical birds flying up into the sky. Squawks blared out, as though a colossal deadly jungle beast were on the rampage, further along the coast.

The sounds vibrated on her ears and the pain from her ankle pulsed furiously driving her on and on, for safety, to survive.

Though she knew where they must be, she expected them to leap out at her from unseen places of the hill.

The island blazed in phenomenal colors Shades of every variant flared all around her as though she were rushing through a mind-bending cartoon.

Her imagination conjured up perpetual illusions.

Shimmering lights fantastically shifted about her.

With similarities to a sixth sense, she sensed her death. Darkness seemed to edge into the side of her eyes, resembling colossal angel of death, stretching over the trees, vaguely visible, and haunting her from the afterlife. And she did not know where to go to escape!

She drew comfort in hearing their distant sounds.

Why had this had to happen at the only desolate region that she had gone to? What possible intentions would drive them to such action? They could not be pirates, unless they had been carrying out some other trade. Drug smuggling could be a major trade in the vicinity, but she could not accept that they were carrying out a mere attack on a rival gang. They took part in a mission as soldiers did – not doing it to wound their enemy but to achieve whatever they had accomplished.

Their deadliness resembled an abyss – a bottomless pit – with no real furthest reaches.