Conversations On Flight – Chapter I
It was snowing in the desert.
The sky turned white as the air was swarmed by peculiar flakes, fluttering soundlessly as they very slowly danced downwards, then finally came to rest atop their alien bed.
Seats without occupants.
Clothes, once folded with ordered intent, scattered in the sand.
A shadow of black smoke passed through the sky as the wind shifted slightly, plunging the scene into darkness.
A stain began to creep through some settled flakes of paper.
Deep red.
0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
The flashing colour of the motorcycle light caused Will to blink slightly in pain. Rubbing his pinkie over his eye, he was careful to keep the burning tip of the cigarette pointed away as it rested delicately between his fingers. The culprit moved up a few feet, allowing Will to settle his arm back against the open frame of the car window, but not before taking one more long drag of his stalwart comfort.
He watched the police escort, watched the thick line of trees passing by, dampening the cry of the sirens.
Was this all a dream?
Some frightening dream?
Ash flew off the tip of his cigarette and past the racing car. He glanced over to Emma who sat next to him on the wide black leather seat, a pile of documents beginning to slip off her lap, her hand rubbing at her scalp slightly as she talked on her phone, still in shock.
No. Not a nightmare.
Far too real.
As he should expect by now, considering.
He brought the cigarette back to his lips when Emma finally hung up, and looked at him with tired eyes. Already tired.
"The King's giving a statement now."
Will inhaled the smoke deep into his lungs.
The King.
He exhaled through a small gap on the side of his lips.
Strange to think they both knew whom she was talking about it.
There could only be one person now.
How sudden things change.
"We're coming up now, sir." The driver intercom buzzed through the stillness.
Emma began to rifle through her ever-present purse. "There'll be people." She pulled out a small silver cylinder and handed it to Will, to which he obligingly accepted and flicked up the top, then after one final puff, squashed the stained cigarette butt into the inside wall of the container then snapped the lid shut, bottling the dying embers.
Handing the cylinder back, they performed their practiced routine where his Chief of Staff swapped it for two small mints.
Popping them in his mouth, he pressed the side button of the door, his tongue beginning to burn slightly, the thick glass moving upwards, until it finally closed them off from the loud rush outside.
Will peered through the tinted window when the line of trees finally broke out into a pleasant scene of manicured countryside, only to be interrupted by a parked car. Then another car. Policemen in florescent vests, arms outstretched along the side of the road. People standing behind. Lost. Moving forward. Carrying flowers.
It was time.
Giving a small cough, he swirled the mints around in his mouth before crunching down on them resolutely. The car began to slow and he turned his gaze away from the milling crowd of shocked faces outside, when the motorcade passed them by and rolled through to the gravelled driveway of a large estate.
The car stopped.
Will flicked a look at Emma, who was stuck in silence too.
Letting out a sigh, he grabbed the handle of the door and stepped out of the armoured car, into the open world.
It was eerily silent.
The sirens had stopped, but something else made the situational feel wrong.
It was only later realised it was because there were no helicopters. They'd all been grounded.
Passing his eyes over the courtyard in front of the estate, he saw the distant faces of the waiting crowd on the other side of the tall fence, quiet and still. Waiting on him.
Turning to the house, he straightened himself as he walked along the gravel drive where a line of servants and stern looking security agents stood along the steps to the main door.
His gaze caught itself on the small black armbands already on arms on waiting staff.
Strange how they could get them on so quickly.
They must have a drawer somewhere full of them. Waiting for something like this.
But when had something like this ever happened?
He could feel their eyes upon him as he strode up the stone steps, then through the open door and into the darkness of the grand foyer.
The cold room was empty except for one tall man, dressed perfectly in a tailored suit, his hands pressed firmly together.
"Prime Minister." He gave him a short bow then held out his strong hand. "John Conroy, Private Secretary to Duchess of Kent. I will show you to Dr…Her Majesty."
The words sounded foreign in his mouth, and he kept his gaze deferentially to the floor as shook Will's hand.
"Thank you." Will responded politely, when Conroy lifted up his palm and directed him down a cavernous hallway.
"This way, sir." He started through the house, and Will followed, eyes taking in the antique decorations, paintings and ornaments, gold trims and heavy velvet. Rooms stuck in time.
Conroy finally stilled at a final room with a large door firmly closed. In front of the door stood a young woman in casual dress, but with a slight bulge in the side of her jacket and a clear rubber bud in her ear. Security.
The women next to her were older. Both in their fifties, but one in a conservative dress and cardigan, the other stylish, perfect nails, perfect hair. He instantly recognised her.
Conroy took his place by the Duchess.
"Your Royal Highness." Will gave the required bow.
"Prime Minister." The Duchess of Kent responded shortly.
He let his eyes pass over the gathered group, falling on the young agent. "Is Her Majesty…"
"She is in the next room." The Duchess answered, her voice still clipped with a shade of German.
"You may go in, sir." The security agent clarified, then moved to open the large door as the others moved aside.
Will gave a nod of thanks to the young woman, then slowly stepped forward, through the doors and into the large room, the sunlight spilling through the tall windows, causing his eyes to squint, trying to adjust to the change of brightness.
A young girl stood still in the centre of the room.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Remember the protocol.
