23 hours - the twenty first hour

20.00. The house has been stormed. The computer snatched. All the young people have been bundled out into the helicopter, all but the one boy who had died in the corner. He will be taken away by a black van that has pulled up outside. Through windows opposite and down the road worried neighbours watch with trepidation. In a bedroom opposite and girl updates her Facebook status.

20.05. Hospitals in the defined area are now at total capacity and all leave and holidays have been cancelled. Medical staff have been called back but there is little hope in stemming the tide. Even in places as far away from the current ‘infected area’ as Scotland and Cornwall people are presenting themselves at A&E with their fears.

20.10. The newspaper has never had so many hits on its website. The number of comments has exceeded moderation and most are from those who have always believed there was an international conspiracy behind everything. This report seems to support that paranoia. Other UK media is having to follow the lead and speculation is creating massive falls in the international money market. In some other countries media there is talk of a new ‘plague’ in the country.

20.15. The Minister is going to have to make a public appearance on the media. The BBC is the only trusted route. They have agreed that he will appear live at the start of the 9pm news. Now they have to work out what it is that they can say. Faith and I have now been sidelined. It’s about politics now. Well, it actually about power and I suppose it always has been. In my naivety I believed those at the top were doing things for the better of others. Now it’s clear it has always been about them and theirs.

20.20. At the anonymous offices computers are being wiped, paperwork shredded and burnt, desks and chairs moved to a secure lock up in the basement. The Zurich team have signalled for three helicopters to transfer everyone away and onto their ship at Portsmouth. As his office is emptied he stares out of the window. Since he has worked for the organisation he has dreamt of being in charge. He has been in control for less than twelve hours and everything has collapsed around him.

20.25. The computer and USB stick are in the basement in a sealed bag to prevent further contamination but they know it is too late. The virus has spread. The biological one has been out and spreading for hours. The computer virus entered the veins of the internet 55 minutes ago. They were so frightened that someone would stumble onto their wrongdoings that they produced a programme that will have unimaginable consequences just to protect their secret.

20.30. The newspapers website has collapsed three times under the weight of the site visits. The group editor is shouting at the head of IT. The head of IT quietly reminds him that it was his decision not to invest in the upgrade because, as he said, ‘No one believes what’s on line and it’s not worth the money.’ Astonishing how the result of his decision is everyone else’s fault. It’s that type of brazen approach lacking any shame or guilt keeps people at the top.

20.35. The journalist, who has found himself elbowed to the side of the story, is sitting at his desk staring through to the glass office where he can see the group editor shouting at the heads of department. He is rightly pi**ed off with them all. He had the scoop, he had the questions but as soon as it gets interesting he’s pushed back in his place. He knew the world was sh*t and unjust but this is the most visible it has felt. He quietly lifts two fingers under the desk towards them all. His mobile phone rings.

20.40. I am listening to the weasel words being honed for the Minister to speak on the BBC. They are going to shift the blame towards forces outside the UK and how the powers that be are doing everything they can to repel this ‘invasion’. They are struggling to find a plausible narrative that will rebut the accusations in the media and point the finger away from the people of power to an unknown force determined to challenge world democracy. The Minister rehearses the draft taking on almost Churchillian tones. Twenty minutes to broadcast.

20.45. The hospitals are collapsing and a spokesperson is forced to go onto TV and radio to defend the cuts and reduction in bed spaces. He knows it was a cut too far but didn’t realise it would be revealed in such a way. He is however able to blame the current situation on ‘unprecedented demand’. After a series of questions a reporter from a satellite channel snaps in the face of such bland responses. ‘But hundreds are dying,’ she shouts, ‘What are you going to do about it?’ The spokesman, unaware of the catastrophe inexorably building, says ‘everything we can’.

20.50. The journalist has hung up and he is an another state of shock. It is just too awful to contemplate. He types in the web address that he has been given and his screen is filled with the supportive paperwork that validates the story. He now knows about the two viruses – physical and virtual. He stands up and walks towards the glass office, not pausing he opens the door. ‘What do you want? shouts the group editor. ‘You need to know and see this. It’s bad, worse than we thought and…’ ‘What?’ says the Editor. ‘Our owner is in this right up to his neck.’

20.55. The hitman is sitting outside the building following everything on his mobile. He now knows he is caught in something that is of a scale that he cannot comprehend and cannot prevent. In such a situation he will do what he always has done, honour his contract. Two to kill and then he can escape. The streets are deserted. The security officers for the building have gone inside. He is hiding in full view. It makes him smile.