Читать книгу Last Light - Alex Scarrow - Страница 23

8 a.m. GMT Manchester

‘Oh come on!’ cried Jenny impatiently.

The digital tune playing over and over as she sat on hold was very quickly driving her insane. The bleeping melody was broken periodically with a recorded announcement that she was on hold to On Track Rail Customer Services, and would be answered by an operator shortly.

Jenny was still in bed, in the Piccadilly Marriot Hotel. The plan had been to take a detour up to Leeds to see some old friends and then home again to begin sorting her life out.

But, with all these worrying things going on thousands of miles away, it didn’t seem like such a good idea any more. All of a sudden, a piss-up with some old, old school friends - ones she had only recently got back in contact with courtesy of Friends Reunited - had lost its appeal. She’d probably go through the motions, buy drinks, get pissed, reminisce, but her mind would be on other things; including Andy, stuck out there, and from what she was picking up on the news, possibly in a dangerous situation.

Jenny wasn’t really that news-savvy generally. She probably put more time into watching soaps and reality shows than she did keeping an eye on current affairs. But, yesterday, in that café bar, she had heard one or two phrases - no more than soundbites - that had sent a shiver down her spine.

At his most obsessive, perhaps a year ago, Andy had warned her that only those who were listening for it, the Big Collapse, listening for the tell-tale signs, would get the crucial head start. The advance warning would come through on the news in phrases that were like a code, encrypted for the few that knew what to listen out for. They would be the ones who would have a chance to prepare before widespread panic kicked in.

Yesterday, watching the news, she felt she had heard something very much like that coded warning.

Peak Oil.

She felt stupid at first, of course. Walking out after her coffee, shopping in the Arndale Centre, having some dinner and coming back to the hotel, she had almost managed to dismiss the nagging notion that maybe she had better get a move on back to London and do an extra-large grocery shop.

Then this morning, having slept on it, and rehashed all those doom and gloom predictions of Andy’s that had so worn her down over the last few years, she realised she’d heard the warning.

And she’d climbed out of bed.

Her friends could wait for another time.

If she was panicking, over-reacting, so what? Better to be back home sitting on more cans of food than they’d normally keep in the kitchen, than be caught out. It would eventually get eaten anyway.

What about Leona and Jacob?

At least if she was back in London and things did look like they were going to get worse, she could nip across and pick Jacob up easily enough. Heading up to Leeds for a pissed-up reunion? . . . Well, she just wasn’t going to enjoy herself if she was distracted with niggling concerns.

The digital tune was interrupted by the voice of a real person.

‘On Track Rail Customer Services,’ answered a man.

‘Ahh, about time! I had a ticket booked to London at the end of the week. And I wondered if I can change it for one going back down from Manchester today?’

‘I’m sorry, inter-city rail services have been suspended this morning.’

‘What? For how long?’

‘I’ve not been given a time. All we know is that they are currently suspended.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m sorry, that’s all we know . . . services are suspended until we hear otherwise.’

‘Well, how am I supposed to get back home?’ she asked angrily.

‘I . . . uhh . . . I’m sorry madam,’ the man replied awkwardly, and then disconnected the call.

‘Great,’ she hissed, ‘flipping great.’

She picked up the remote from her bedside table and turned on the small TV which was perched on a bracket in a corner of the room. Flipping across the meagre selection of five channels, all of them had a news programme of one sort or another, and every single one of them was talking over some new development of the troubles. She turned up the volume.

‘. . . the incident in Georgia. Early reports are that the explosions at the Baku refineries near the Tengiz oilfield may be the result of an accident caused by a sudden increase in demand and production, coupled with the ageing Soviet-era oil infrastructure and machinery. However, there are conflicting reports that the explosions may have been caused by a deliberate act of sabotage . . .’

Jenny flipped over to another channel.

‘. . . sources from the Pentagon say that additional troops may be re-deployed from the Gulf to guard the other refineries and pipelines in the Caspian region. However, it’s clear that US forces already out there are being stretched dangerously thin, to the point that command control and supply routes to the men could possibly begin to become a problem. Commentators in Washington are suggesting that the President may be forced to announce some kind of draft to cover the additional manpower needed in the immediate future. But even then, things are happening very swiftly and troops are required now to . . .’

And another.

‘. . . unclear what happened to the Amoco Dahlia this morning. The explosion ripped the super-tanker’s hull open just as the vessel entered the main shipping lane through the Straits of Hormuz. The Amoco Dahlia has shed many millions of gallons of oil, and is still burning. It’s unknown whether the super-tanker hit a mine, or perhaps more likely, was targeted by a fast-moving terrorist boat rigged with explosives . . .’

And another.

‘. . . this morning. The Prime Minister’s press secretary said that an announcement would be made later today. Traders in the City of London will, of course, be trying to anticipate what he’s going to announce. The obvious thing to be looking out for would be a temporary relaxing of duty on petrol and diesel. With prices per barrel this morning rocketing past the $100 barrier and still rising, it’s clear that short-term measures to counter immediate damage to the already fragile economy will be at the forefront of his mind . . .’

Jenny looked down at the mobile phone, still in her hand and realised that, for the first time in a long while, she wished Andy was right there, and telling her what she needed to do.