The Shaking

Chapter Thirty Five

Near Swanley, Kent. 06.50

Kevin Norris was hyperaware of his surroundings, alert to any sound which would indicate his position had been compromised. Though as he was nestled deep in a hedgerow running alongside an overgrown environmental 'set aside' strip looking across two recently harvested fields approximately 800 metres from the Emergency Reception Centre under construction anyone who discovered his presence would most likely be specifically looking for him, in which case the game would be probably up for both parties.

This was to be a classic gun and run mission, like many of those he'd performed in those arid Afghan hills. Ideally Kevin would have preferred more time to prepare and more intelligence to work with, but given the circumstances he just had to improvise as best he could and hope luck was on his side.

When he'd received his orders all that had accompanied them was a rough itinerary which had most likely changed or even been cancelled by now, but the scant information was enough for him to go on. Norris had quickly excluded most of the possible target sites as being impossible to reach by any means of transport given the current circumstances, or else the venues were places he lacked any detailed information about, or would be too heavily populated to provide effective concealment. Of all the possibilities it had been this area which seemed the best prospect, nay the only choice.

Before leaving home Kevin had fed Jasper and left a note behind for Debbie, explaining he'd gone out looking for her. As yet he'd heard nothing from her so assumed she was still out if touch, as so many others were. The alternative that she was one of the disaster's many casualties didn't bear thinking about, but he had a feeling somehow she was OK. Then he'd checked his mobile phone was switched off so that his position couldn't be traced by its signal trail, before putting it in one of his bedroom draws. That done, Norris shouldered a nondescript rucksack, swung a leg over his mountain bike, and set off to pick up his weapon.

Though Kevin was a licensed shotgun owner and did the occasional day's shooting to justify his possession of the firearm at home, he was careful enough not to store any of the Organisation's arms there in case Debbie or the police discovered them. Instead the group's local arsenal was kept in a secure lock-up unit rented in a small industrial estate a few miles away. Norris cycled there without incident; but upon reaching the store ran into an unexpected delay while he convinced a suspicious mobile security guard that he was there to check his business for earthquake damage rather than burgle it. The persuasion had cost him time he could ill afford to lose.

After a harder than expected ride to the objective as a result, at least he was now settled in place. Kevin wore inconspicuously dull civilian clothes rather than camouflage, and had partially covered himself an olive drab tarpaulin to mask his thermal signature from any surveillance drone's infra-red detectors, though he doubted they would be employed here, given the preparations for Rampling's visit had been so rushed. Lying prone with his stomach resting on a lightweight self-inflating camping pad, Norris lifted a pair of compact binoculars to his eyes and scanned the target zone again.

Set up close to the Swanley interchange junction on the M25 to provide care for stranded motorists who had abandoned their vehicles and trudged their way to it, the village of marquees and plastic portable toilet huts must have come form one of the prepositioned regional 'response pods' of emergency preparedness supplies. Observing the scene, Kevin noted a first aid tent, field kitchen, and a truck mounted water purification system connected by a long, thick trunk of a flexible pipe to a distant water main. Another parked all-terrain lorry carried a large generator to which soldiers were busy connecting heavy duty cables as they set up lighting towers. Few of the military appeared to be armed at the moment, instead relying on the police to keep order. Norris wondered how long that state of affairs would continue as he watched the swelling queues of people shuffling slowly from tent to tent as they were registered, given water, ready-to-eat snacks, and medical attention if required became impatient to return home. From what he'd heard on the radio earlier the orbital motorway was crammed solid in both directions with stationary traffic. It would take days, perhaps weeks to get it all cleared, and that was before taking the collapsed bridges and 'quake damaged slip roads into consideration.