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No 10 Downing Street

By Jonathan Graeme Lott All Rights Reserved ©

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Chapter One

Chapter One: No 10 Downing Street

Short Story

In the Cabinet Room of No 10 Downing Street, Swift wandered the space, admiring the paintings and art, while waiting for a message over the radio. The sounds of gunfire echoed around the building, as Downing Street’s guards put up a final resistance.

Finally, ten minutes after the soldiers had stormed the seat of the British government, the gunfire stopped and a voice echoed in his earpiece.

Colonel Swift,” a voice said over the radio, “we have secured the PM.” Swift smiled in satisfaction. Producing a packet from his pocket, he lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply.

“Excellent work, Major,” Swift said, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he spoke, “please have him brought to the Cabinet Room.” As he spoke, he walked over to the PM’s seat at the Cabinet table and sat down. “Also, please make sure his family are kept comfortable and secure in the meantime.”

“Yes Sir.” As the radio went silent, Swift sat back and waited for the inevitable knock at the door, which came six minutes later.

“Come in.” He intoned.

The double doors opened and a bloodied and dishevelled man was dragged into the room by two soldiers. Prime Minister David Felton struggled heavily against his captors, but got nowhere in his efforts. As he struggled, he threw questions at the soldiers.

“What is this?! What on earth are you doing?! I’ll have you all arrested for this!” Seeing that they had reached their destination, he turned his questioning to Swift. “I demand to know what the devil is going on!” Colonel Swift laughed.

“Making demands, are we Mr. Felton?” He asked with a smile. “I think you are severely overestimating your position here.” Felton looked around the room at his captors, apparently searching for a way to escape. “I wouldn’t try to escape, Mr. Felton. Even if you got away from the men holding you, you would be dead before you made the staircase.” The PM turned his attention back to the man.

“Who the hell are you?” Prime Minister Felton demanded. He smiled, releasing another cloud of smoke as he exhaled.

“I’m surprised you don’t remember me David, do you mind if I call you David?” He continued without waiting for a reply. “You should remember me. After all, I did save your life five years ago.” Felton’s eyes widened, in the realisation.

“Swift?” He whispered.

As soon as the name left his mouth, one of the nearby soldiers slammed his rifle butt into Felton’s stomach. Falling to his knees, the PM braced himself on the ground, gasping from the strike. The soldier dragged him back to his feet.

“That’s Colonel Swift, you piece of shit!” The soldier spat. He went to strike the PM again, but Swift held up his hand.

“Stand down.” The soldier nodded and resumed his position. Swift turned back to Felton and smiled. “You may have stripped me of my rank and destroyed my file, but you can’t erase all knowledge of who I was.” He gestured to the soldiers in the room. “The men who serve under my command have not forgotten who I am, and for that, I am grateful.” He nodded to the soldiers who saluted in respect.

“What do you want?” He asked; his face pale. “Why are you doing this?” The man turned his chair fully to face him. Brown met icy blue.

“Now, the why of things…answering that would take more time than we have. But what I want, is very simple,” he leant forward, the smile dropping from his face, “your complete, unconditional surrender and resignation from office.” Felton stared for a moment, before laughing nervously.

“Y-you can’t be serious…” he said, his forehead beading with sweat.

“Oh, I am deadly serious, David.” He replied; his voice cold and unforgiving. The nervous smile dropped from the PM’s face.

“You must realise that I can’t do that,” he said, glancing nervously at the guards holding him tightly, “even if I did resign, Parliament would never accept your rule.” With the mention of the United Kingdom’s government building, Swift smiled ominously.

“Don’t worry about Parliament, David,” he said, slapping Felton patronisingly on the shoulder, “they’ll soon be in a similar position to you.” The PM swallowed in fear, before regaining some sense of bravado.

“A-and what if I refuse?” he challenged. Swift shrugged indifferently.

“Do so, if you wish. It will make no difference. If you refuse, I will kill you and takeover without your resignation.” He paused, before smiling. “But please remember, that we currently have your family in custody.” Felton’s eyes widened in horror. “It would be unfortunate if something were to…happen to them, wouldn’t it?”

“Leave them alone, you monster!” The PM snarled in anger. Swift laughed in amusement.

“Or what, Felton?” He asked with a laugh. “What are you going to do?” The man fell silent but Swift could see the anger bubbling beneath the surface. “Calm yourself, David, your family is fine. My men have orders not to harm them…unless you fail to co-operate.” As the anger drained from the PM’s body, his head fell forward and he sighed.

“If I resign,” he began, making Swift smile, “will you let my family go free?” He asked tiredly. Swift smiled and slapped him on the shoulder in a friendly gesture.

“I can do better than that.” He said with a smile. “If you co-operate, you and your family will go free.” Felton’s eyes widened in shock.

“You…you’ll let me go?” He asked.

“Yes.” Swift paused. “However, if I let you go, you will be forced to leave the country and you will be forbidden from returning.” The PM nodded in agreement. “Furthermore, if you continue to work against me in exile, I will kill both you and your family, in the most painful way imaginable.” He knelt down to look Felton in the face. “Are we clear?” David nodded wearily.

“Y-yes.” He whispered in defeat. Swift smiled in triumph.

“Good man.” Gesturing to the guards, they lifted David to his feet and led him to the long, meeting table in the centre of the Cabinet Room, where Swift produced a document, and a pen. “Please read it and sign it, David.”

Doing as he was told, the soon to be ex-Prime Minister of Great Britain picked up the paper with shaking hands and read through it carefully. Seeing nothing untoward, he signed his name, before putting the paper and pen back onto the table. Swift smiled and nodded.

“Thank you, David,” he said, “you have done what was asked, so I will do what I agreed to do.” He looked at the soldiers. “Please reunite David with his family and escort them to the airport.” He turned back to David. “The plane will take you to France where we have provided some temporary accommodation until you can make plans.” He looked the ex-PM in the eyes. “Remember what was said, David. If you act against me, even in the smallest manner, I will know, and you and your family will die.” Felton nodded profusely.

With that, the ex-Prime Minister was returned to his family, who were, as assured, unharmed, before being led out of 10 Downing Street for the last time. As they were bundled into a car and made their way to the airport, Swift sat down in the Cabinet Room and lit another cigarette.

After a few minutes, he was disturbed by a phone call from one of his commanders in the field. They had all achieved their objectives that night, with next to no bloodshed on either sides of the skirmish. With that thought, Swift leant back in his chair and smiled.

Great Britain had fallen to him.

He was now in total control.

He had won.


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