Chapter Six

Eve stared up into the twilight sky and tried to fit the object into her own frame of reference. There was a resemblance to a Civil War ironclad, its prow reminded her of the head of a swordfish. It was built from a dark metal, like cast iron, but it glittered. The portholes looked like a fly's compound eyes, and it was possible to see through the smoky glass that the interior was lit in languid red, like emergency lighting. Something was shifting around in there: dark, diffracted shapes that were impossible to interpret. It was vast.

It was following the course of the river, heading upstream. It barely cleared Tower Bridge and passed over HMS Belfast on the river. It was possible to guess its size now it was coming alongside the Greyhaven Building. It eclipsed Guys Hospital and London Bridge station, so it was larger than the two combined. That made it a kilometre long, perhaps two hundred metres broad. A dozen times bigger than a Jumbo Jet.

Edward placed a hand on her bare shoulder. 'It's heading across the city. Get dressed. We have to get to Mission Control,' he said softly.

Police cars were racing through London.

It was so large that it was visible right across the city. The pavements, the parks and the rooftops were full of people staring up at it, trying to work out what it was. Loudmouths were proclaiming it to be a publicity stunt for a movie, a hot air balloon, a Jeremy Beadle wind-up. No-one was listening to them.

EastEnders vanished from ten million television screens, replaced by a live feed from the roof of the BBC. The picture jumped around a bit at first: there was no commentary. There were dozens of people up there, all looking upwards at an object in the sky. Some were pointing, others were talking. There was an urgency about the image that every viewer found compelling. They edged closer to the screen, trying to ignore their children who were asking what was going on. The object passed overhead, drifting over the Strand. They heard Nicholas Witchell's voice telling them that this was a genuine news programme, and the object on their television screen was an alien spacecraft.

But everyone could see that for themselves. This wasn't a model, a computer graphic or any other kind of special effect. It wasn't a hoax, a mass hallucination, a scare story, a dream, a practical joke, a fossilised polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbon or a science fiction drama.

It was an alien spacecraft, coming to rest ten feet above Nelson's Column.