The Lords' Day (retail) by Michael Dobbs Read Free Book Online Page A

much to the delight of his men and the consternation of his CO, who just hated surprises. Harry had an
extraordinary knack of pissing off his superiors. His last outing with the Special Air Service had proved to be one hell of a yomp, too. He’d loved the SAS, not so much for what it was but
because, after Julia’s death, he had been able to lose himself within its monkish company of warriors. He had shown himself to be utterly fearless, some said reckless, but only with his own
life. Others did their damage with little more than a pen. No sooner had his squadron proved its mettle in counter-terrorist operations throughout Northern Ireland and many other parts of the world
than an order was signed placing them on role rotation. They were intensely honed experts in urban warfare; now with little more than a few weeks’ training behind them, they were sent to
fight in the desert. It was the inexorable Law of Sod. They found them selves thrust into something called Gulf War One. The equipment had been crap – some of it literally melted – the
intelligence had more holes than a whore’s knickers and they’d been dropped in a location that was supposed to have been empty for miles around but turned out to be within spitting
distance of a major deployment of the Republican Guard. After a disastrous firefight Harry had been forced to walk more than two hundred miles to safety with a bullet in his back and a wounded
colleague slung over his shoulder, and only two litres of water between them. Yes, Harry knew how to walk.
    Now, as he hurried through the park at the back of Downing Street, he wondered if he was still able to do it, to take all that pain. He knew he’d changed, perhaps gone soft. He was used to
controlling his feelings, not letting the anger show, so why was this baby thing getting to him? Christ, he’d even voted for the abortion bill, but now . . . He strode on, trying to work off
his frustration. Soon he was cutting through St Margaret’s churchyard where, in the lee of the abbey, the lawns had been planted with a spreading tide of tiny wooden crosses bearing poppies.
Remembrance Day was less than a week away. He slowed his pace. Small family groups were gathered, pointing to crosses, planting their own, talking in low voices washed with pride about those they
had lost. Harry came to a halt for a few moments, struggling with his own memories.
    As he stood in this field of poppies, much of his immediate anger passed from him. He had to regroup, get back in control of the situation. He couldn’t leave things where they were with
Mel, buried in lurid recrimination. Whatever he thought about her, he needed her, had to find some way of changing her mind. He tried her mobile but she wasn’t answering, not to him, at
least. He left a mumbled half-meant apology and asked to meet up to talk things over – perhaps over dinner again? Tonight? The suggestion might promote a few happier memories; after all, less
than nine hours ago they’d been having sex in the communal lift.
    A few strides later and he had reached the crowd barrier manned by armed police at the edge of the security cordon.
    ‘Have you got your pass, sir?’ one of the constables, a woman, asked. Harry took in the brightly manicured fingers hooked around a Heckler and Koch MP5, and still couldn’t
persuade himself that such things were right. He began scrabbling inside a pocket for his green-and-white barred security pass when the other policemen, without waiting, drew back the barrier.
    ‘Morning, Mr Jones, no need for that.’ The bobby saluted.
    ‘I’m sorry, do we know each other?’
    ‘You won’t remember but we met, briefly, after you gave a speech at the Hendon police academy. Fine speech you made that day; not heard a better one since. Pity you left the Home
Office, that’s what many of us thought.’
    ‘Yeah. I thought that, too.’
    And he was through, past the security cordon, crossing the empty street. Instead