As Samantha walked into the large Sainsbury’s superstore on the outskirts of Warsash, a private jet landed some eighty miles to the north and taxied to a halt on a secluded part of the apron of London’s Northolt Airport. Three large black Mercedes SUV’s pulled to a stop alongside as the door opened and a group of men jogged down the air-steps and into the open doors of the waiting cars. The convoy drove quickly away towards an open crash gate on the airfield’s perimeter and joined the busy Saturday morning traffic on the A40 making its way into London. In the capital a meeting was in progress in Buckingham Palace between royal house officials and state department bureaucrats completing the preparations for the forthcoming visit of Donald Trump, the American president.
Not far away, in a small private lounge in a discreet gentleman’s club off Pall Mall, some very different preparations were being made for the same event. Lord Westcliffe and James Mollinson, the leaders the Link, were in deep discussion sitting on their own in two comfortable armchairs. Westcliffe took a sip from the crystal tumbler he was holding and savoured the fine whisky, before continuing.
‘The time has come, Mollinson. If all goes according to plan, we will change forever the way this country has been run and with the help of our German brothers, make it will last for a thousand years!’
‘Here, let us drink a toast to success.’ proposed Mollinson, raising his glass in a symbolic gesture towards the Earl.
‘Here’s to our success, Mollinson.’
They clinked glasses, drank and Westcliffe leant back in his chair with a smug smile on his face.
‘We do still have one loose end to tie up.’ informed |Mollinson.
‘But you led me to believe that everything is in place.’ barked Westcliffe.
‘Relax, it’s only a small problem. An operative from our sister agency, MI5, has been getting far too inquisitive for his own good. He’s suspicious of Michael Dodd’s death and is trying to find out who ordered the new restriction notice on that old court martial file.’
‘What! The court martial that my father was involved in and the cover up instigated by my grandfather? This man could follow a trail that leads to our present day society and my family’s long involvement with it. You must do everything in your power to prevent this.’ spluttered Westcliffe.
‘Relax, you must think about your blood pressure, Thomas. I already have the matter in hand.’ calmed the intelligence chief with a wave of his hand.
‘In fact, checking the expensive gold watch on his wrist, it’s being resolved now. We can’t have any skeletons tumbling out of the cupboard now, can we?’
They finished their drinks and went through to join the other members of the Link in a large private function room. Behind locked doors, they took their places behind a table on a raised stage at one end of the room. Sitting in rows of chairs before them were government minister’s and MPs, together with a smattering of civil servants, military officers and police commanders talking among themselves.
Westcliffe stood up and cast an eye over his loyal lieutenants seated in front of him and waited for the chattering to stop. They were the nucleus of the Link, the clandestine network that his grandfather had founded many years ago. He felt proud to be the current leader and satisfied that through his hard work, the society would now shortly achieve its final aim. Clearing his throat he addressed his audience.
‘Today, following months of hard work and secret liaisons, I can tell you we are about to achieve our dream. The same vision, shared by our forefathers so many years ago.’ declared Lord Westcliffe.′
A round of applause greeted his opening statement, which he acknowledged with an upraised hand.
‘With the help of our German brothers and the success of the imminent operation, we will be free to build a new, strong, nationalist Britain. We will rid this country of the limp-wristed parasites that are running it. We will crush the failed, weak democratic system that exists to line the pockets of those greedy individuals running it. And replace it with a solid foundation of nationalism and pride.’ he said, raising his voice and pounding his fist on the desk top in front of him for effect. Westcliffe stared with his dark piercing eyes at the audience before him,
‘When we gain control we will solve the economic, political and social problems of the country by achieving a national rebirth, exalting our nation above all else by promoting cults of unity, strength and purity which will last hundreds of years. Sieg heil!’
‘Sieg Heil!’ responded the audience, rising as one to their feet and saluting their leader.