Most of the members of the European Parliament at first had viewed Britain’s decision to vote on whether to exit the EU with derision, in their arrogance and conceit believing that a member state could not want to leave the Community. However, many in the UK thought after Brexit, the country would not only survive but prosper, once free from the shackles of the bureaucrats in Brussels. The common misconception of the Remainers was that the anti-EU position represented a form of isolationism. It was up to Prime Minister Carol Dowding’s party to prove that nothing could be further from the truth, now that the majority had voted to come out of such an outdated European model in favour of turning Britain into a thriving, energetic, global trading country.
The EU was heavily influenced by its German members. Manfred Klein, the German defence minister, against the German Chancellor’s wishes, demanded that a new European army be formed, led by Germany. He also stated forcefully that the total lack of immigration controls in Germany, a legacy of Martina Lohman, the long serving Chancellor, had resulted in an unintegrated multicultural society in the country. A statement ominously similar to one made by Adolph Hitler in 1932. The newly elected US president, Donald Trump, welcomed Britain’s exit and stated that in his belief, he saw the EU only as a vehicle for Germany and its possible war mongering.
In the BND offices in Berlin, the lights were burning bright long into the night as those responsible made the final preparations for the operation that, if successful, would end in the total occupation of Europe by Germany. Senior intelligence officer Joachim Wieck leaned back in his comfortable, high backed chair and drained the last of the schnapps from the bottom of the glass. He was celebrating a very productive day, after receiving an intelligence signal earlier confirming the imminent arrival of the two suitable candidates necessary to complete the attack force. Wieck was confident they could be persuaded to change their allegiance, once matters had been explained to them.
In her office in the Chancellery, Martina Lohman was feeling alone and isolated. A serious rift had developed among members of her government after the defence minister’s statement, who she knew now held strong fascist views. Determined to force his hand, Lohman planned to give a passionate speech to the Bundestag, following her return from the forthcoming meeting with the new British prime minister in London, where they would discuss ways of keeping the two countries united after Britain’s exit from the EU.
The next morning inside a plush office that commanded majestic views across London, two men were in a heated discussion over the same subject. One barked an order to his personal assistant over the telecom console on his desk.
‘No interruptions, Penelope, until I let you know.’
Reaching for a button under his desktop, he leant forward and pushed the switch to illuminate the red in-conference light outside the office, which also locked the door, barring entry. Looking at the man seated opposite him, James Mollinson grunted.
‘We must put these damn women in their place before they wreck our imminent plans with our allies in Germany.’
‘I couldn’t agree more.’ said the other. ‘Events here are getting out of hand. We have to prevent them meeting and forming a unified front, at all costs. You can’t take the risk of your officers being involved again, as you courted disaster by taking Dodds out.’ he muttered.
‘Relax, Thomas. Our close alliance and co-operation with our German brothers has ensured that the greeting arrangements for the German Chancellor’s visit are now in place.’ he soothed,
‘We can’t let her visit jeopardise what we have worked for so hard.’
‘And I think, James, it is time you have a discreet word in our new prime minister’s ear. If she refuses to obey our commands, a warning should do the trick. Why not remind her of the unfortunate death of her deputy, Michael Dodd. That should get her focused.’ the other suggested.
‘I couldn’t agree more. Leave her to me.’
‘Excellent!’ said Lord Thomas Westcliff.
Later that afternoon Prime Minister Carol Dowding sat behind her desk in her private office in the House of Commons, going through her welcoming speech for the German chancellor who would arrive later that afternoon. She was finding it very difficult to concentrate as the death of Michael Dodds weighed on her mind. She was sure the evil society was responsible, which he had revealed in the moment’s heat but she had no proof. Michael had always been compulsive. If only he had kept his head.
The results of the post mortem had been inconclusive and on-going investigations by MI5 officers, instigated at her request by their director general, Patrick Allerton, were being hindered by their sister agency MI6, who had taken the body to the mortuary in Westminster. The prime minister felt she was losing control and was pondering her next move when there was a sharp knock on the door. Before she could respond, the door opened and in walked James Mollinson, the director of MI6.
‘Good afternoon, Prime Minister.’ said Mollinson.
‘What’s the meaning of barging your way in here?’ asked the prime minister coldly.
‘We have to talk, Prime Minister.’
‘Why didn’t you make an appointment with my private secretary?’
‘Enough! You will listen to me, and it will pay you to listen well.’
‘Have you taken leave of your senses? I am. . .’
‘No, I have not. I will get straight to the point. A majority of public opinion has swept you into power by but that does not give you the right to run this country.’
‘What are you talking about, Mollinson?’ uttered Dowding, her face turning red with anger.′
‘There are people much better qualified than you already running this country. Unless you knuckle down and follow our instructions, then your time as prime minister will be short. Your first action will be to change your policy and reverse the Brexit vote. And my advice to you is to stop meddling in matters that don’t concern you.’
‘Never! You are an evil man.’ spat the prime minister, reaching under her desk for the panic button.′
‘Keep your damn finger away from that button!’ hissed the security chief in a commanding voice that oozed venom, grabbed her arm, and pinned it to the desktop.
‘You’re hurting me,’ cried out Dowding. ‘Stop it. I’ll call security . . .’
His dark grey eyes bored right into her.
‘You forget, Prime Minister, I am your security and there are many other members of our great society secreted in your government and commerce, and military commanders, in high places throughout the country.’
‘Let me make this easy for you.’ he stated, releasing the grip on her arm.
‘You are on your own now and will do what we say, unless you want to follow in the footsteps of your deputy prime minister.’
Carol Dowding let out a gasp of surprise as her blood chilled. Mollinson turned on his heels and walked out of the room, slamming the door as he went.
These despicable people had actually murdered Michael Dodds, her dear, dependable friend, who with his brilliant mind and skills had steered her into power. She shuddered and let out a sigh, clutching her hands to her forehead in despair. Whom could she turn to now, as she had no idea how far the tentacles of the Link stretched? She felt drained and very alone.
The prime minister had no recollection of how long she had spent in her gloomy state when the intercom chimed on her desk. Pressing the button, she heard the voice of her personal secretary telling her that Martina Lohman, the German chancellor was on the line. She reached for the handset, greeted her, and talked at length about their meeting in London set for tomorrow. Carol Dowding soon realised she wasn’t the only one who felt so alone and isolated, but could she trust Lohman?