Invasion Read Online Free PDF

better he’d probably entertain the anti-western conspiracy theories being bandied around the room, but to do so would invoke a siege mentality within the administration and that would be bad for everyone. Besides, he argued, what good was a broke and busted Europe?
    So the meeting had ended, grim looks in evidence as the attendees left the room. Harry left too, his Communications Director, David Fuller, hurrying behind him. As they made their way back upstairs into Number Ten, Harry’s thoughts turned to the forthcoming dinner that night with the US Ambassador. After years of Euro-centric governments in Whitehall, Harry had focussed significant diplomatic efforts in re-kindling long neglected Anglo-American friendships.
    The US economy, in difficulties for nearly a decade, was now beginning to show signs of a marked recovery. After the Gulf and Afghan withdrawals, and the Arab Spring that had eventually given birth to the Arabian super state, America had been badly let down by her allies in Europe. No one had fought her corner when the Grand Mufti Khathami had decided to cut off oil exports to North America, when the same economic woes had gripped the US as they had here in Britain and, as a result, Washington had pursued a somewhat isolationist foreign policy. Harry didn’t blame them for that, and had often felt ashamed at the almost unbridled joy exhibited by many fellow politicians at America’s downfall.
    But things had changed recently; in the last few months, US exports had risen, the dollar had been slowly strengthening, the power cuts that had bankrupted the state of California and affected every major US city had ceased almost overnight. Something was going on across the pond and Harry was glad that he’d reached out to Washington in his first months as Prime Minister, offering a hand of friendship that was tenuously accepted. Relations were still fragile, but Harry believed he was considered a friend in Washington, and right now that friend needed help. Tonight, at dinner with the Ambassador, he’d find out if help was forthcoming.
    In the lobby of Number Ten, Harry dismissed Fuller and made his way upstairs to his private apartment on the top floor. Anna, his wife, was working on her laptop in the kitchen when he entered.
    ‘Missus B,’ he chirped, brushing her blonde hair back and pecking her cheek.
    ‘Hi,’ smiled Anna, tapping away at the keyboard. ‘How was the meeting?’
    ‘Tedious,’ he sighed. His wife knew about the CIG meetings, was aware of the type of topics discussed in the deep level bunker below ground. And it frightened her. Harry could hear the edge in her voice, saw the lines that creased her forehead, remembered the fear in those pale blue eyes when the paint had splattered against the car window, when she came face to face with the baying crowds beyond the shields and the barriers. She’d changed in the last year, and Harry had seen her strength and confidence falter in the face of mob violence, of class hatred, at becoming an establishment hate figure alongside her husband.
    The thought of exposing his wife to such animosity made Harry’s stomach churn. His marriage was important to him, more than anything, but he also had a duty to the country, to all those people out there who were suffering similar strains and pressures. Anna knew that, accepted it, but wasn’t coping as well as she might. She was a good person, decent, caring. She didn’t deserve this. The bloody job was making them both old, Harry fumed.
    He forced a smile as he watched Anna close her laptop and move it to one side. ‘Can we leave town this weekend?’ she asked. ‘I don’t want to be around for this bloody march.’
    ‘Of course. I can work from Chequers.’ Harry poured them both a coffee and sat down at the kitchen table, loosening his tie. A siren suddenly wailed on Whitehall and he saw anxiety cloud her eyes again, the worry lines around her mouth deepen. He took her hands in his. ‘Hey, it’s