Time seemed to slow down. Every day was an exercise in self-control. Publicly, I was the busy Prime Minister, pushing my domestic agenda. Inwardly, I was a man waiting for a bomb to go off.
Blackwood gave me updates in terse, encrypted messages.
"Package is being assembled."
"Courier has been selected."
"Delivery scheduled: Friday morning."
Friday. October 25th. One month to the day after I took office. It would be a day seared into British history.
…
That morning, I deliberately scheduled a Cabinet meeting on NHS reform. It was a tedious, technical topic, designed to create the perfect alibi. As my ministers debated budgets and waiting times, I watched the clock on the wall.
8:42 AM.
According to Blackwood's intelligence, that was the time.
I felt a phantom vibration in my pocket. Not my phone. It was a ghost vibration, pure anticipation.
Seconds later, an aide burst into the Cabinet Room, his face white as a sheet. He whispered in Rottington's ear. Rottington's face lost all its color. He approached me, his hand trembling as he placed a note in front of me.
It contained just three words: *lGREEN PARK. CONFIRMED.
I stared at the note, then raised my head and looked at the confused faces around the table. I let the silence hang for a few agonizing seconds.
"Gentlemen, ladies," I said, my voice perfectly feigning a grief-stricken rasp. "This meeting is adjourned. There has just been… a major incident on the London Underground Network."
…
The COBR room felt like a tomb. This time, the screens didn't show blue and red dots. They showed hell. Grainy CCTV footage showed a blinding white flash on the platform of Green Park Station, followed by a wave of fire and thick black smoke. Then, the horrific images of survivors stumbling out of the station, their clothes torn and burned, their faces blackened with soot and shock.
Sir James Sterling stood beside me, his face a granite mask.
"Initial reports," he said in a flat voice. "An improvised explosive device, most likely in a backpack. Detonated in the middle of a packed carriage as it was stopped at the platform. The casualty count… is unconfirmed. It could be… it could be over fifty dead. Hundreds more injured."
I closed my eyes for a moment, playing my part.
"Who?" I asked.
"Too early to say, Prime Minister. But…" a counter-terrorism chief spoke up, "the pattern of the attack—soft civilian target, homemade explosives—is consistent with Islamist extremist groups inspired by…"
"Enough," I cut in. I didn't need to hear the rest. The script was playing out exactly as we had written it.
I turned away from the screens. "I want the borders sealed. The terror threat level raised to Critical. I want raids on every location on our watchlist. Start with that mosque in Luton. I want suspects. Now."
My orders were sharp, swift, and certain. In the midst of the panic and confusion, I was the sole point of calm. I was the leader they needed.
…
Later that afternoon, I addressed the nation from the steps of 10 Downing Street. Behind me, the Union Jack flew at half-mast. My face was weary, my voice was heavy, but my eyes burned with a cold fire.
"This morning," I began, "the enemies of civilization struck at us. They brought fire and death to the heart of our city. They murdered fathers and mothers, sons and daughters. They did so in the name of a hateful ideology that has no place on this soil."
"I will not waste time with empty words of sorrow. Prayers will not bring back the lost. Prayers will not stop the next attack."
"Instead, I make you this promise: there will be retribution. Swift, decisive, and merciless."
"We know who did this. They are the same monsters we have allowed to fester in our midst, fed by a failed immigration policy and a misguided culture of tolerance. Tolerance for the intolerant is suicide. And this morning, we have seen the price."
I looked directly into the camera. "As of today, the rules have changed. The gloves are off. To the terrorists and those who harbor them, I say: We will hunt you. We will find you. And we will destroy you."
"And to the British people, I say: I will not allow your country to become a battlefield. I will cut out this disease, whatever the cost. In the coming days, I will present the National Recovery Act to Parliament. It will grant me the powers necessary to keep you safe, to cut through the paralyzing bureaucracy that has tied our hands for too long."
"Some will say this is too high a price to pay for security. I say, ask the families of the victims in Green Park what the price of weakness is."
"Our age of patience is over. The time for action is now. We will mourn. We will rebuild. But most of all, we will prevail. God bless Britain."
…
In the days that followed, the country was in the grip of fear and fury. The faces of the victims filled the newspapers. Stories of heroism and tragedy were told. And in the center of it all, I stood as a pillar of strength.
The raid on the Luton mosque "uncovered" damning evidence. A cell of three young British-Pakistani men were identified as the perpetrators—all killed in the blast. The media devoured the narrative.
In Parliament, the atmosphere had completely changed. Kaelan Richards and the rest of the opposition were silenced, terrified of looking weak in the face of terror. The wavering Conservative MPs I had threatened and bribed now fell in line behind me with a newfound, fearful conviction.
When the National Recovery Act came up for a vote, the outcome was a foregone conclusion. It passed with a majority of over a hundred. Buckingham Palace, after another brief, tense meeting, granted Royal Assent.
It was done.
That night, Simon Blackwood came to my office. He placed a bound copy of the newly passed act on my desk.
"Congratulations, Prime Minister," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "You are now, effectively, the law."
I picked up the document. The paper felt heavy in my hands, heavy with power and with blood. I had killed innocent Britons to get this. I had betrayed every principle of democracy I was supposed to uphold.
I looked up at Churchill's portrait.
"This isn't the end, Simon," I said, setting the act down. "This is just the beginning."
I had become a dictator. Now, it was time to start ruling like one.