28th March
Arkangel parked behind a row of coloured beach huts near the Hampshire seaside town of Lee-on-Solent.
It was early morning in late March, and the car park and beach were mostly deserted.
A Volkswagen campervan had followed Arkangel’s car into the car park. The van drove into a parking space that afforded a good view of the sea.
A middle-aged male driver was visible through the windscreen of the van. There was a woman of similar age beside him. The woman took the top off a thermos flask and poured herself a drink. The man opened a newspaper and began to read.
Arkangel got out of the car and walked towards the beach. It was low tide, and a tall man in a dark overcoat stood on the shingle at the sea’s edge. Arkangel crunched across the shingle to join him.
‘Good morning, Mr. Paulov,’ said Arkangel.
Vladimir continued to look out to sea. ‘Good morning,’ he replied.
Arkangel stood silently alongside Vladimir for many seconds. ‘What can you tell me about events at Meadowcote?’ Arkangel finally said.
‘I left the bunker for a break and saw a van driving away from the church. When I checked the church crypts, the place was deserted, but there had clearly been some very unpleasant violence. I would say that at least one person, and possibly more, had died in horrific circumstances. There was no evidence, however, that anyone other than your people and Mrs. Hargreaves had been there.’
‘That was five days ago,’ said Arkangel. ‘My team and Mrs. Hargreaves have simply vanished.’ Arkangel was silent for several more seconds. ‘This situation may be worse than I feared,’ Arkangel continued. ‘We know that Morrison has obtained exceptional supernatural powers; we know that his cult practices sexual rites that are quite contrary to biblical teachings, and now we know that he can cause carnage of a diabolical and satanic nature if a member of his group is taken.’
Arkangel’s voice became increasingly angry in tone: ‘Clearly a respectable, middle-aged, middle-class woman from a quiet English village could not effect such carnage. Morrison must have remotely commanded the forces of Hell.’
Arkangel turned to look at Vladimir. ‘I am beginning to fear that Morrison may be the prophesied Anti-Christ, and that we must defeat him if we are to prevent the end of the world.’
‘We are making good progress to save the Earth,’ said Vladimir, changing the subject to something on which he and Arkangel shared common ground, ‘although there is a complication. There have been people on the estate. I don’t know who they are or what they’re doing because we can only monitor the estate from the road. They can’t be the police or something would have been in the press by now. They must have found the church crypt, however, and their presence means that we cannot access the bunker complex.’
‘Might they find the bunker complex?’ asked Arkangel anxiously.
‘Very unlikely,’ Vladimir confirmed.
Arkangel removed an envelope from an inside jacket pocket and passed it to Vladimir. ‘This is the new code,’ said Arkangel.
~*~*~*~*~
In the Volkswagen campervan, the man lowered his newspaper and checked the angle of the video cameras, the still cameras and the high intensity, ultra-sensitive, directional microphones.
He always smiled when he watched surveillance operations in TV dramas. Why did the targets never look in the direction of the huge telephoto lenses that were always pointed towards them from open car windows?
He watched Target A leave Target B and walk back up the beach.
Target A glanced at him as he passed the campervan. The old man smiled at Target A and bade him a cheery: ‘good morning,’ before returning to his newspaper.