A Bookshop Moves to Tadfield. Chapter 10. A Terrorist Attack.

1. The helicopter pad at the Tadfield Manor performance driving track. A sleek executive helicopter is on the pad, engine warming up. A man who appears to be the pilot is standing nearby. No one else is in sight. The red Mercedes pulls up near the office, which appears to be empty. There is noise from a powerful car apparently going around the track in the far distance. Sandalphon and Hastur exit the car and walk some distance across the tarmac to the helicopter.

Is this Crowley's helicopter?

The pilot, a Scotsman in his 50s, name of Ewan, slides off his headset and lets it rest around his neck.

How's that, again?

Is this Crowley's helicopter?

Yes, this is Mr. Crowley's machine. Is he expecting you?

Sandalphon and Hastur have no idea that, had they waltzed up unannounced to an ordinary executive transport, they'd have been tazed by security before they got within 50 meters of it.

Yes. He is. Taking us to London with him.

Right, then. If you'll please board, I'm expecting him to arrive shortly.

The pilot assists them up the little stairway and into the back compartment of the machine.

You'll have to sit one to each side here. A young man will be sitting in the middle between you.

Sandalphon and Hastur also have no idea that, while this particular helicopter has some serious sound proofing, normally passengers wear ear protectors against the engine noise. And that the pilot has not provided them with these headsets. He has, however assisted them with adjusting the safety restraints. Tightening them a bit too snugly. They settle uneasily into their seats. Hastur finds the engine rumble and vibration particularly disturbing. Sandalphon smirks

Maybe he stopped for an ice cream for the kid.

Lucky break for you, that.

The pilot sits in his seat, starts the rotors gently turning, then exits the machine. Again, Hastur and Sandalphon have no idea how non-standard this procedure is. The turning rotors increase their anxiety.

And the Bentley drives through the entrance gate, glides nearly to a stop alongside where the pilot is standing. A back passenger door opens, and the pilot does a nearly horizontal dive inside. The Bentley suddenly does a drag racer's start and zooms toward the driving track.

2. The previous morning, in London. A small, tidy interior office without windows. Vaguely resembles the stereotypical concrete bomb shelter. Because it is, in fact, a hardened room. The man behind the desk rises swiftly as Crowley enters, gestures to a sleek executive chair with wheels. Crowley positions the chair around alongside the one behind the desk, and the two men seat themselves.

Mr. Crowley. What can I help you with today?

Thanks for making time for me, Evgeny. What exactly do I need to blow up a helicopter?

Evgeny doesn't miss a beat.

What type of helicopter, Mr. Crowley?

My EC-135.

Evgeny considers him for long minute, looking thoughtful.

Should there be . . . recognizable remains?

No. And I need to know the blast radius.

A big one, then.

Yes. Is Ewan available for pilot duty?

3. Inside the Bentley roaring away from the helicopter. Crowley has twisted around with his arms across the back of his seat and is looking out the back window. Has a remote in his teeth. Makes some complicated pushing gestures with his hands. Evgeny's recommended amounts, placement, and detonators for diesel-soaked ANFO were not in the helicopter when Sandalphon and Hastur boarded, but they are now. Right distance. Quick! Crowley's presses the remote buttons.

The bulletproof glass in the Bentley's rear window crazes as red light envelops the car and a blast wave seems to push it forward even faster.

Fookin' 'ell! Ewan flings himself back down across the back seat.

Yippee ki yay, motherfuckers! Crowley's face is twisted with glee. Demonic glee, of course. Thinks, Good Old Agnes. Right on the money!

Adam is concentrating on his driving, but grinning as he thinks how utterly cool this all is. Dad and Mum would be horrified, of course, but parents just didn't understand some things sometimes.

Adam does a drift and accelerates to bring the car around to a screeching halt in front of the office. The windows are all shattered. Ewan vaults out and dashes into the empty building to make a 999 call. A Porsche Boxster with Evans and Mary in it is circling far out on the performance track, heads back to the office building. The Bentley is already out the gate and ten miles down a side road before the first emergency response vehicle arrives.

Adam gets out and hops down into the ditch to retrieve his bike. Crowley abstractedly repairs the Bentley's peeled paint and crazed window as he runs around the back of the car and gets into the driver's seat.

Call Aziraphale. Tell him we're all right.

Adam makes an excited call as Crowley rockets off down the road. By the time Adam arrives at the bookshop, Crowley is nearly in central London. He has a bone to pick.