The Silent Frequency

Please note: This is a work of fiction. Names, events, and institutions are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or organisations is purely coincidental.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

PART ONE

Prologue: “A Crack in the Wall”

London, February 2025. The grey skies over the city seemed to mirror the anxieties thrumming through its streets. News of political unrest and rumours of protests had set people on edge. Among the bustling crowd walking along Portland Place stood Amara Diallo, a 32-year-old Black autistic software engineer employed by BBC Monitoring. Dressed in a long dark coat and a colourful scarf, she clutched a reusable coffee cup in one hand, scanning her ID badge against the turnstile that led into Broadcasting House. The ID beeped, and Amara stepped through the glass doors.

She had always found comfort in the quiet hum of technology — computers, servers, lines of code. Words from others could feel chaotic in her mind, but the precision of a well-structured system soothed her. Today, however, that comfort threatened to shatter. A few days earlier, she had stumbled upon oddities in the metadata of routine internal communications. At first, she thought it was just a glitch — some ephemeral data corruption. But the patterns were too specific to dismiss.

Amara had grown up in a culturally rich family: Her mother, originally from Nigeria, taught her Yoruba proverbs that occasionally peppered her thoughts. Over the years, Amara had found that Yoruba proverbs had hidden layers — little keys to interpret the world. It was precisely that mental habit of seeking hidden meaning that alerted her to something off in the BBC’s security logs. She had spotted small clusters of data that seemed like random letters at first. On closer inspection, they matched Yoruba words, hidden in encryption. One phrase repeated: “Alaye ti n ṣiṣẹ́ lọwọ́ ijọba” (“The storyteller works for the government”).

She tried to brush it off, telling herself it was just a system quirk. Yet the more she looked, the deeper the puzzle went. Her pulse raced when she found references to “Corporate Security,” “ex-SAS contractors,” and “monitor dissent protocols.” Something in her gut told her there was far more at play than normal data or random test messages.

That morning, she took her coffee to her usual workstation in the BBC Monitoring suite. The open-plan office buzzed with hushed conversations and the clack of keyboards. Dozens of analysts were scanning foreign broadcasts, translating them in real-time. Others tracked social media trends across the UK, feeding data to producers and correspondents. Amara plugged in her laptop and launched an internal tool to continue her investigation in a safe environment. She had half-expected the anomalies to disappear overnight — maybe the IT team would have removed them, or it would all turn out to be a glitch. But the anomalies were still there, blinking like warnings in a sea of code.

At mid-morning, Amara’s supervisor, Derek Holmes, walked over to her desk. He was a middle-aged man who prided himself on BBC traditions: neutrality, thoroughness, and an unyielding chain of command. “Amara,” he said with a concerned frown. “You look tired.”

She forced a small smile. “Didn’t sleep well.”

He lowered his voice. “Look, it’s not healthy to spend all your free hours on systems audits. I got your email about the strange logs. Could be a bug in the encryption library.”

She nodded, though she did not believe that. “I’m aware, but it’s unusual. The strings aren’t random, they’re Yoruba words. And they reference someone… working for the government. Possibly infiltration?”

Derek’s expression hardened. “I appreciate your diligence, but don’t let your imagination run away. We have enough to deal with right now — impending protests, budget constraints, scrutiny of our editorial independence…” He paused, then added more gently, “Speak to IT, but don’t let it consume you.”

Amara watched him walk away, feeling like he had just brushed off a fire alarm as a faulty battery beep. Determined, she returned to her screen, deep-diving into code that connected BBC Monitoring’s systems with a hush-hush sub-network. Tracing user permissions, she noticed something else: cross-departmental access logs. It appeared that BBC Corporate Security had ex-SAS consultants, and there were active requests to “monitor dissent” during upcoming protests. Intrigued and uneasy, she tried to open one of the documents, only to be met by an “Access Denied” prompt.

Frustrated, she took a break, heading toward the kitchenette area. She was about to make another coffee when she sensed someone behind her. Turning, she found Liam Walsh, an ex-military analyst who had joined BBC Monitoring after serving with the Army in intelligence. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a serious demeanour.

“I saw your message to Derek,” he said quietly, crossing his arms. “You suspect infiltration?”

Amara gulped. “I’m not sure yet. Something’s definitely off. I found coded Yoruba phrases in the logs, references to BBC Corporate Security collaborating with… well, ex-SAS people.”

Liam’s jaw tightened. “They’re not just ‘ex-SAS.’ You’d be surprised how many intelligence ties loop right back into the BBC. But you’re playing with fire.”

She glanced around, noting how subdued the entire floor felt that day. “You think I should stop looking?”

He took a breath. “No. If you’re right, you won’t be able to stop anyway. Once a system is compromised from within, the only chance of revealing it is to keep digging. But watch your back. The BBC’s a soft-power tool, always has been. If there’s a plan to misuse it, you don’t want to get in their way without protecting yourself.”

Amara chewed the inside of her cheek, nodding slowly. Liam’s words echoed her own sense of danger. The BBC was globally respected. If a faction were weaponising it, imagine the influence they could wield.

Later that day, she looked at the logs again, cross-referencing them with corporate directories. A particular group of individuals popped up repeatedly: former special forces, private security contractors, re-hired as consultants for BBC’s Corporate Security. She discovered suspicious emails from an MI5 liaison addressing the infiltration of far-right “Patriotic Alternative” (PA) members into the BBC. The words flickered on her screen like a threat: “PA sympathisers embedded within editorial teams — monitor carefully. Risk of manipulated coverage.”

It all felt too big. The BBC was the public’s voice of trust. Could it really be exploited from within? She left the office late, carrying the weight of unanswered questions with her.

Act One: “The Unraveling”

Chapter 1: Something’s Rotten

Over the next week, Amara tried to focus on her usual tasks, assisting BBC producers in verifying data from overseas broadcasts. Yet, she couldn’t ignore what she had uncovered. At night, she combed through further layers of system logs from home, discreetly using a secure connection. What she discovered was bone-chilling: a hidden channel that seemed to update in real-time, referencing “Event Codes,” “Authorisation Required,” and “Protest Watch.”

In the broader world, tensions were rising. A huge protest was planned outside Parliament to challenge new government measures — some said the measures curbed civil liberties; others insisted they were necessary for security. Speculation was rife in the media about infiltration by extremist groups. In BBC editorial meetings, the debate centred on coverage: how to remain unbiased while not downplaying the threat of violence. Amara kept her head down, but she noticed BBC executives had begun emphasising the “national security perspective.”

One brisk morning, she took the bus to Broadcasting House, her mind swirling with new findings: cross-reference logs had indicated cooperation between the BBC and certain ex-Army contractors. She suspected it went deeper than just “monitoring dissent.” She needed to talk to someone above Derek — someone who would take her seriously.

Approaching the office of Mary O’Connell, Head of BBC Monitoring, she paused at her door, mustering courage. Mary, a formidable woman in her late fifties, sat behind a desk lined with files and a half-eaten pastry. She beckoned Amara inside. As Amara began describing her discovery — Yoruba-coded references, infiltration by far-right groups, BBC security logs — Mary’s reaction was immediate scepticism.

“That’s quite an imagination, Ms Diallo,” Mary said, eyebrows raised. “Where exactly did you get these logs?”

Amara explained, adding that she suspected a cross-departmental scheme to control the narrative around the protests and possibly beyond. She put forward a newly found snippet indicating that BBC Corporate Security was drafting protocols for “Emergency Broadcasting.”

Mary rubbed her temples. “Look, I’ll grant you an internal clearance to investigate this further. But proceed carefully. The BBC is no stranger to working with government bodies — after all, we’re a national institution. Don’t forget your day job, though.”

Amara left the meeting feeling only mildly reassured. Mary had not dismissed her outright, but her tone suggested scepticism. Nonetheless, official clearance to dig deeper could be a double-edged sword: if the infiltration was genuine, those pulling the strings could easily track what she was doing. Yet, the only way forward was to expose the truth.

Chapter 2: Coordinated Chaos

The world outside the BBC’s walls erupted into chaos. During a live coverage of a Cabinet meeting in Dorset, the Prime Minister’s helicopter malfunctioned and crashed into a rural field. In a matter of minutes, BBC News cut to a “Breaking News” report. The anchor solemnly announced that “cyber terrorists” were suspected, citing an unnamed Ministry of Defence spokesperson.

Amara, standing among colleagues in the BBC Monitoring suite, watched the live feed with a pounding heart. The entire segment felt orchestrated — especially because the BBC was the first to break the story. They had a camera crew practically on the scene more quickly than usual. She wondered if the prime minister was alive. The coverage was vague, offering little clarity beyond the “cyberattack” angle.

Within an hour, the coverage intensified. Government spokespeople demanded an immediate crackdown on extremist groups. Many of these groups, they claimed, had ties to the upcoming protest movement. By mid-afternoon, martial law was declared in London. Parliament was suspended. Every major news outlet was broadcasting a similar line: that a radical wave had forced the government to impose extraordinary measures. Meanwhile, social media was frantic: some users shared unverified videos of the crash, others claimed it was staged. Amara looked on in horror as official BBC channels pivoted into repeating the “cyberterror” narrative almost without question.

She hurried to her workstation, pulling up the internal data feed that the BBC used for curated news. BBC Monitoring’s normal editorial checks seemed overshadowed by a new “Emergency Coalition Bureau.” Names she didn’t recognise were approving stories for broadcast. Under the alias “ECB,” urgent bulletins stated: “Trust official sources. Fake news threatens public stability.”

As day turned to night, fears of a national clampdown grew. London’s roads had armed checkpoints; patrols marched across iconic squares with an authority not seen in decades. The BBC’s coverage was uniform and supportive of the government’s actions — a jarring departure from the usual balanced approach.

Amara turned to Liam, who was at the desk beside hers, data from multiple feeds on his screens. “This feels too coordinated,” she whispered. “They’re not even giving any investigative journalists a chance to question it.”

He nodded grimly. “Years ago, I worked in an Army intelligence unit that studied the feasibility of controlling communications in a crisis. We concluded that the best way was to harness mainstream media into one official narrative. That’s exactly what’s happening now.”

“But how far do you think it goes?” she asked.

Liam’s gaze was stone-cold. “Judging by the speed of events, I’d guess it’s widespread: ex-military, government insiders, and now far-right sympathisers who want to leverage the BBC’s credibility. The crash might’ve been orchestrated. They needed a pretext for martial law.”

A shiver ran through Amara. She’d never felt so small, so entangled in webs of power. Yet, her unique vantage point — her role in BBC Monitoring and her suspicious findings — meant she might be among the few who understood the extent of the infiltration.

Chapter 3: Behind the Curtain

The next few days were a whirlwind. A “Council of Emergency” was formed, led by Gideon Voss, a populist MP and retired Army colonel. He announced that the “temporary suspension” of democratic processes was necessary to stabilise the country. Government critics either went underground or were arrested under new powers.

Within the BBC, all employees received an email from Corporate Security emphasising “the national interest.” It warned about “subversive elements seeking to distort the truth.” Meanwhile, the word “patriotism” cropped up relentlessly in internal memos. Amara could see the shift: journalists known for their independence were sidelined from key programmes, replaced by new voices who repeated official lines.

One evening, Amara snuck into a restricted server room beneath Broadcasting House. She used her clearance from Mary O’Connell to bypass the digital lock, though she suspected it might raise alarms later. The hum of servers and the glow of status lights surrounded her. She located the rack storing data from an internal cluster used for “emergency broadcast readiness.” Carefully, she attached a secure USB device to one of the ports and accessed the directory labelled “Black Symphony.”

Her heart pounded as she opened the files. They described “Operation Black Symphony” as a multi-phase event designed to create the illusion of a massive cyberattack. The objective: to justify shutting down internet communications across the country. Far-right infiltration was spelled out in chilling detail — notes referencing cooperation with “sympathetic elements in the BBC to ensure public acceptance.” She took as many screenshots as time allowed. The deeper she dug, the more she realised how meticulously planned this was. The final aim seemed to be a total information blackout, after which BBC frequencies would transmit only “approved messages.”

Before leaving, Amara found a section referencing “PA infiltration strategies — exploiting the migrant crisis coverage.” She felt sick. One line read: “BBC editorial to emphasise distrust of immigrant groups — align coverage with infiltration narrative.” She pictured how many people would be deceived, turning on innocent communities if the blackout and propaganda took hold.

Creeping out of the server room, she bumped into a figure in the corridor — a mild-mannered man in a BBC lanyard. He smiled politely. “Working late?” She forced a nod. He lingered, eyes flicking to the USB in her hand. She worried he might report her. But he said nothing else and walked away. Even so, her nerves remained on edge.

Chapter 4: Tensions Boil Over

Two nights later, panic gripped the city as the planned protest outside Parliament erupted in violence. The BBC broadcast described the protestors as “extremists” who were “aligned with foreign cyberterror networks.” On social media, however, independent journalists showed videos of peaceful marchers facing heavy-handed police tactics. More than once feeds cut to images of black smoke rising near Westminster, riot shields clashing with crowds.

Amara was at home, her curtains drawn, the city’s sirens piercing the night. She was analysing the data she copied when her phone buzzed. An unknown number. She answered cautiously.

A distorted voice, likely using a scrambling app, spoke: “You don’t know me. I’m MI5, a dissident. Codename: Q-White. We have evidence your ex-SAS security force is acting under Gideon Voss’ orders to intimidate journalists. We also know you accessed Operation Black Symphony.”

Amara’s heart hammered. “How did you — why are you calling me?”

“Because you’re part of the firewall, Ms Diallo. My own department’s compromised, but not everyone. We can’t allow them to silence the entire country. Find a way to broadcast the truth — expose them. People still trust the BBC’s airwaves.”

The call ended abruptly. A swirl of fear and responsibility overcame her. She wrote down everything from memory, including the cryptic references to infiltration inside MI5. If Q-White was real, it meant there were still allies out there. But she also realised time was running out: once Black Symphony was triggered, the internet would be severed nationwide, eliminating her best tool for exposing the conspiracy.

That night, she barely slept, haunted by the tension between her secret knowledge and the unstoppable machinery of the state. She felt trapped in an invisible war. And if she lost, the entire country would slip into darkness, manipulated by a small circle of conspirators who would exploit the BBC’s voice to propagate fear and division.

Morning came, and she prepared for the most critical day of her life. She packed the USB drive, double-checking her encrypted files. Her plan formed quickly: she would find a way to hijack the BBC’s main broadcast systems. It sounded audacious — insane even — but the official channels were already compromised. She would have to circumvent the editorial chain, override security protocols, and beam out the truth before they could shut everything down. She just needed an accomplice.

Liam Walsh was the obvious choice. That afternoon, she pulled him aside in the hallway. “I need your help,” she whispered. “I have evidence of a plan called Operation Black Symphony — once it’s launched, they’ll cut the internet and broadcast propaganda.”

Liam’s eyes flickered with alarm, and he gestured for them to move to a quieter corner. “I suspected something like that. My old contacts in the Army told me about a clandestine project for crowd control. Didn’t think they’d actually do it.”

“They will. We have to stop them by broadcasting the truth first,” said Amara, voice trembling with urgency. “It’s the only chance. If it fails, we’ll be branded traitors.”

He closed his eyes briefly, then exhaled. “Count me in.”

Eager for an extra layer of safety, Amara also considered reaching out to Mary O’Connell. The head of BBC Monitoring was not obviously compromised — she had offered clearance for further investigations, after all. Yet trust was fragile in these times. For now, she and Liam agreed to keep the circle small.

Outside, the city was crawling with armoured vans and soldiers brandishing rifles. The BBC building itself, usually open to visitors, had been ringed by security barriers. Guards in black tactical gear roamed the lobby. Whatever was coming, it was coming soon.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

PART TWO

Chapter 5: Shadows in the BBC

In the days that followed, the atmosphere inside Broadcasting House became oppressive. Posters proclaiming “Together for Order” appeared in corridors, and staff were encouraged to sign a “loyalty pledge” in support of the Emergency Coalition. Most BBC employees complied, either out of fear or a genuine belief that they were helping maintain national stability. Those who hesitated faced increased scrutiny.

Amara and Liam worked discreetly, using each spare moment to refine their plan. She decrypted more of the files from Operation Black Symphony, discovering instructions for far-right infiltration into editorial teams. The plan was meticulously laid out: infiltration, sabotage, orchestrated chaos, and then a crackdown that positioned the far-right as the “restorers of order.” The storyline was simple and chillingly effective, relying on public fear and the BBC’s aura of credibility.

Meanwhile, Gideon Voss’s face dominated BBC coverage. The networks portrayed him as a calm, strong leader stepping in to restore order in a moment of national crisis. His speeches, delivered with unwavering confidence, hammered home the narrative that the helicopter crash was orchestrated by foreign radicals. There was no mention of any sabotage from within the country or the government itself. Dissident voices were nowhere to be found on air.

One afternoon, Amara slipped away from her usual workspace to meet Liam in an isolated editing booth. She spread out printouts of the most damning evidence: the digital references to “Patriotic Alternative infiltration,” the BBC’s hidden “Emergency Coalition Bureau,” and notes about controlling coverage. Liam studied them with furrowed brows.

“This is bigger than I feared,” he said quietly. “We need to broadcast this soon. Our window’s closing.”

She nodded. “I’ve identified a vulnerability in the BBC’s emergency broadcast system. It’s meant to override normal programming in times of disaster, like a nuclear strike. If we can patch into it, we can hijack the broadcast. But we’ll need hardware from Hanslope Park — HMGCC equipment. Otherwise, they can block us.”

Liam’s eyes widened. “Hanslope Park? That’s effectively a fortress of spy tech. How will we get access?”

“I’m still working on that part,” she admitted. “We might need to reach out to Q-White if we can figure out how to contact them.”

Chapter 6: The Loose Thread

Later that day, Amara received an unexpected text: “Alaye ti n ṣiṣẹ́ lọwọ́ ijọba. — Q-White.” That Yoruba phrase again, the same one she had initially found in the logs. It meant “The storyteller works for the government,” or more literally “The narrator is toiling for the administration.” It seemed to confirm Q-White was indeed the one who planted that coded message to gain her attention. Another message followed with instructions to meet in a quiet pub in East London at midnight.

Summoning her courage, Amara travelled across the city, weaving through late-night security checkpoints. The pub was dimly lit, nearly empty at that hour. She took a table in the corner, heart pounding, scanning each face. Finally, a person in a dark hoodie approached. Their features were partially obscured by the low light.

“Q-White?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

The person nodded and sat. “Can’t stay long. My real name is unimportant. I’m not alone in MI5, but we’re outnumbered by those who’ve sworn loyalty to Voss. Listen carefully.”

Amara inclined her head, leaning forward.

“Hanslope Park is under tight control,” Q-White explained. “But there’s a known blind spot in their perimeter. A friend can get you inside. If you can lay hands on a particular piece of broadcasting equipment — a secure transmitter with the prefix ‘MG-90’ — you’ll be able to override the BBC’s lockouts from a distance.”

Amara’s mind whirled. “And then what?”

“Then, while they’re focused on quelling the protests, you transmit everything you have — documents, footage, coded references. If you do it right, you’ll bypass the editorial chain. The people will see the truth.”

She swallowed. “What about the risk? If they catch me…”

Q-White’s expression was grim. “I’ll do what I can. But be cautious. Voss and his people won’t hesitate to eliminate threats. They’re ex-military — skilled in covert ops. Once you go in, you can’t turn back.”

Before leaving, Q-White placed a small slip of paper on the table with a coded phone number. “Call this once you have the device. We’ll be waiting.”

Amara watched them disappear into the night. The weight of responsibility pressed down on her. She had never asked to be a hero or an undercover operative. Yet, circumstances had thrust her into that role. In the quiet interior of the pub, she sipped water, trying to steady her nerves. Tomorrow, she would ask Liam to join her on this mission — he was ex-military, he might know how to handle infiltration.

Chapter 7: The Approach

The following morning, she told Liam everything about Q-White’s instructions. A flicker of apprehension crossed his face. “Hanslope Park. That’s basically GCHQ’s hardware arm. Breaking in is no small feat.”

“But we have an inside contact,” she insisted, recounting Q-White’s plan. “We slip in during a shift change — apparently there’s a gap in their perimeter cameras that lasts a few minutes.”

Liam nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll gather what we need. It won’t be easy.”

That evening, they drove out of London in Liam’s old sedan, the roads quieter than usual, overshadowed by the tension that hung over the country. Once they neared the perimeter of Hanslope Park — a collection of bland buildings enclosed by security fences — they parked down a dark lane flanked by overgrown hedges. They checked the time, waiting for the designated shift change.

When the moment came, they slipped out of the car, keeping low. The complex had motion-sensor lights and cameras. Liam led the way, navigating them around a drainage ditch that skirted the main fence. At one point, a searchlight swept overhead, and they froze, breath lodged in their throats. But the light continued past. They pressed on.

Behind a row of dumpsters, a man in a simple security uniform beckoned them. “You’re with Q-White?” he whispered, not waiting for an answer. “This way.”

He ushered them into a side door that opened onto a narrow corridor. Inside the facility, fluorescent lights hummed overhead, and the walls smelled of antiseptic and machine oil. Their guide showed them to a small storeroom, unlocked it, and handed them a blueprint with a few notes scribbled in the margins.

“MG-90 transmitter,” said the man, pointing to a location on the map. “Rack 3, sub-level B. Hurry.”

Amara and Liam thanked him, slipping quietly down a flight of stairs into sub-level B. The corridors branched off into multiple labs. They found a label for “Communications Storage,” tested the door, and found it locked. Liam produced a small lockpicking set, evidently from his army days, and after a minute’s tense work, the door clicked open.

Inside, rows of metal shelving stretched to the ceiling. Labels indicated encryption equipment, transmission hardware, and other covert technology. Amara scanned each shelf, adrenaline surging, until she spotted the MG-90 transmitter. It was smaller than she had expected — about the size of a large briefcase, with a robust handle and a port for an antenna extension.

They lifted it carefully, double-checking the label: “Property of HMGCC — MG-90.” Once in their hands, a sense of finality settled over them. This was it, the device that could let them bypass the BBC’s controlled broadcast. The question was whether they could use it effectively before being caught.

They retraced their steps, hearts pounding with every echo in the corridors. Back at the side door, their contact waited nervously, motioning them through. After a tense walk along the fence line, they returned to Liam’s car, transmitter in tow. Clouds draped the moon, concealing their escape in darkness. The moment they eased onto the country road, a thunderstorm broke overhead, rain drumming on the car roof as though nature itself sensed the chaos to come.

Chapter 8: Under Lockdown

At dawn, they arrived back in London, exhausted. Liam carefully stashed the transmitter in a hidden section of his flat’s loft. Over a strong cup of tea, they planned the final stage: hijacking the BBC broadcast.

“Tomorrow night,” said Amara, scanning a map of Broadcasting House. “We’ll use the transmitter from a secure vantage point nearby. I can modify an external feed to slip into the Master Control Room. If all goes well, we’ll override them.”

“And if they trace the signal?” asked Liam.

She nodded. “They will, eventually. We’ll have minutes, maybe less. But once the evidence is out, they can’t bury it so easily.”

Late that afternoon, a hush fell over the city’s newsrooms. Rumours swept the BBC that Gideon Voss was about to deliver a “major announcement.” Cameras were set up for a live broadcast from Downing Street. The nation braced for a speech that would define its immediate future.

Amara and Liam hurried to Broadcasting House, swiping their IDs and passing security checks. Huddled at her desk, Amara opened a secure terminal to test her link to the MG-90 device. She coded a quick diagnostic. The transmitter responded with a green light on her screen: connection established. Perfect.

Shortly before Voss’s scheduled address, Derek Holmes approached Amara, eyes suspicious. “Amara, I need to speak with you. Some anomalies keep popping up — security pings from your user account. Care to explain?”

Her mind raced. “I’m running stress tests on our servers. Ms O’Connell gave me clearance. It might be triggering the flags.”

Derek studied her carefully. “We’re all under the microscope these days. Watch yourself.” His footsteps receded, but the sense of danger grew.

She texted Liam: “We must act soon.”

Chapter 9: The Helicopter Truth

That evening, a small group of journalists gathered around a flickering TV in a BBC lounge. Voss’s speech began. Surrounded by uniformed officers, he proclaimed that the government had “neutralised the key perpetrators of the helicopter crash attack” and that additional “emergency powers” would be enacted to ensure peace. He made no reference to the Parliamentary protest or the numerous arrests of activists. The message was grim: the crackdown would deepen, the government would rule by decree, and any dissent would be crushed under the pretext of security.

In the hush that followed, someone switched off the TV. Dark looks passed around. Even for staff accustomed to government spin, the sense of finality was suffocating.

Amara quietly took the chance to gather more data about the helicopter crash. She had discovered an MoD document referencing “acoustic weapons” and “drone sabotage tests.” If she could link that technology to the crash site in Dorset, she could prove it wasn’t a cyberterror attack. That piece of evidence could be a critical part of her broadcast. She stayed at her station long after most people left, cross-referencing crash coordinates. She found a shocking match: the prime minister’s flight path overlapped with a restricted test area used days earlier for acoustic-based rotor disruption drills. The MoD had tested a sonic device that could interfere with helicopter sensors.

So it was not a foreign cyber hack. It was domestic sabotage, likely orchestrated by factions that wanted to seize power under the guise of an external threat. It all fit the pattern: a false-flag operation to justify martial law and push the far-right infiltration agenda.

At 11 p.m., with only a skeleton crew remaining in the building, Amara decided to slip out. Tomorrow, the final step would begin.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

PART THREE

Chapter 10: A Glimmer of Hope

The next day arrived with a sense of dread. London’s streets were emptier than usual, dotted with military patrols. BBC staff were subdued, as though bracing for something inevitable. Amara and Liam methodically prepared for the hijack. They moved the MG-90 transmitter into the unoccupied top floor of a nearby office building that had a line of sight to Broadcasting House. Tactically, it was the best vantage point to transmit a strong enough signal.

At midday, Liam discovered disconcerting news: a BBC Wales Investigates documentary team had vanished. Rumour was they had been gathering evidence on the far-right Patriotic Alternative. Corporate Security claimed they had “gone on leave,” but that sounded suspicious. Whispers suggested the team had actually infiltrated PA cells and recorded damning material. Now they were missing.

As the afternoon wore on, Liam called in a favour from one of his old Army contacts — an ex-colleague who had grown disillusioned with Voss. The friend confirmed that the BBC Wales team had indeed found proof of direct collaboration between top BBC figures and the far-right. They were going to break the story, but they never got a chance. Now they were in indefinite detention.

Bolstered by the knowledge that there were others seeking the truth, Amara and Liam felt more determined than ever. Failure would mean letting the entire country slide into authoritarian rule.

Chapter 11: Triggering Black Symphony

By 7 p.m., the BBC’s coverage took on an even darker tone. The main anchors reported that a wave of “cyber threats” had been detected. Experts from the “Emergency Coalition Bureau” recommended taking “all necessary measures” to protect Britain’s digital infrastructure. This looked suspiciously like the lead-up to Operation Black Symphony — the next step being the total shutdown of the internet. They were setting the stage for it on air, priming the public.

In a final push, Amara returned to the server logs that night. She glimpsed references to “activation codes” for Black Symphony. The process could be triggered at any time. Government loyalists inside the BBC would flick a digital switch, cutting off normal communications. Then the public would be fed curated bulletins declaring that foreign hackers had crippled the internet. The far-right infiltration team, in the meantime, would keep broadcasting a xenophobic narrative.

Amara’s adrenaline surged. Tonight was the night. She signalled Liam, and they slipped out of Broadcasting House just after 9 p.m., telling colleagues they were heading home. Instead, they made their way to the disused office building across the street. Under flickering fluorescent lights in an abandoned corner office, they set the MG-90 transmitter on a desk and hooked it up to a makeshift antenna by the window. Rain splattered against the glass, city lights glowing in the wet darkness beyond.

Amara opened her laptop, connecting to the transmitter’s control panel. She keyed in frequencies that she had gleaned from her research — frequencies that linked to the BBC’s emergency broadcast system. A security prompt asked for credentials. She typed in an access token gleaned from Mary O’Connell’s clearance. The progress bar inched forward.

“Almost there,” she whispered.

Then a new text alert lit up her phone: “This is Q-White. They’re onto you. Security forces en route. Hurry!”

Amara’s stomach dropped. “We have to do this now.”

Chapter 12: The Broadcast

She looked at Liam. He gave her a firm nod, placing a small camera on the windowsill. “We’ll stream live video,” he said. “Let the people see who we are — see the raw data. That way, they can’t pretend it’s a hoax.”

At the final command line, Amara hit “Execute.” For a few seconds, the transmitter’s screen went dark. Then a hum. They felt a subtle vibration under their feet. On her laptop, she saw the status indicators: “BBC MCR Signal Override: LIVE.” The rest was up to them.

They stepped in front of the camera. Liam activated a feed that replaced the normal broadcast on BBC channels with their unfiltered livestream. Citizens across the UK, expecting to see the nightly news or a continuing special bulletin, were suddenly greeted by the image of two dishevelled individuals in an empty office.

Amara took a trembling breath. “My name is Amara Diallo. I’m a software engineer with BBC Monitoring. What you’re about to hear is the truth behind the helicopter crash, the martial law, and the infiltration of the BBC.”

She and Liam then took turns presenting the documents. They held up printouts to the camera, showed the sinister references to Operation Black Symphony. They read excerpts from the MoD files linking the helicopter crash to sabotage by domestic forces, not foreign hackers. They explained how far-right groups like Patriotic Alternative had seeded loyalists inside the BBC, shaping news coverage to stoke fear of immigrants and dissenters. Liam produced the eyewitness accounts from inside the Army that suggested Voss had orchestrated the entire crisis to consolidate power.

Amara concluded, voice wavering with emotion, “We must resist this takeover of our public broadcaster and our democracy. We cannot let fear silence us.”

For a minute or two, the stream went uninterrupted. Across the country, viewers stared in disbelief as they saw raw data, charts, encryption keys. Some likely changed channels, but many stayed, realising they were witnessing either the biggest hoax in broadcast history or a genuine exposé of governmental corruption. Social media exploded — despite the heavy clampdown, enough networks were still operational for #BBCExposed to begin trending.

But the authorities were not idle. Amara saw the transmitter’s logs flicker with intrusion attempts. They were trying to block the signal. She typed commands furiously, pushing back with the transmitter’s built-in encryption. The override signal held. The airwaves stayed under their control.

Suddenly, footsteps thundered in the corridor outside. Shouting. The door burst open. Armed security forces — black-clad ex-SAS operatives — flooded the office. Liam leapt in front of Amara as they pointed weapons. One of them marched forward and smashed the camera to the ground, cutting the feed in an instant of static.

Amara cried out, “Get off me!” as strong hands seized her laptop. Another guard ripped the MG-90 transmitter from its cords, halting the broadcast. Still, the broadcast had run for nearly three full minutes — enough time for thousands, maybe millions, to see it.

A gravelly voice said, “You’re under arrest for treason.” They pinned Liam to the floor, twisting his arms behind his back. He struggled as one guard kicked him in the ribs. Another guard subdued Amara, pressing her face into the desk, her arms wrenched behind her. She felt the cold metal of handcuffs clamp around her wrists.

Her last conscious thought before a rifle butt knocked her near-unconscious was that the message had gone out — maybe it would spark the counter-resistance needed to topple the conspiracy.

Chapter 13: The Cost

Hours later, Amara jolted awake in a dark cell. A single overhead bulb buzzed, revealing four walls of grey concrete. She groaned, feeling dried blood on her temple. Her entire body ached. With difficulty, she sat up. She was alone.

Time became abstract. No windows, no clock. Eventually, the cell door creaked open, revealing a guard who flung a paper plate of food onto the floor — a meagre sandwich. Days might have passed, or only hours. She was given minimal rations, no contact, and no explanation of her legal status. In that silent captivity, her mind drifted to Yoruba proverbs her grandmother taught her about resilience, about how the quiet often harbour the greatest strength.

Meanwhile, across the country, the mainstream BBC channels resumed their normal schedule, quickly releasing a statement that “rogue employees manipulated the broadcast.” They denounced Amara and Liam as “domestic extremists” working with foreign powers. Gideon Voss took to the airwaves, proclaiming that this attempted hijack was further proof that Britain was under attack from within.

Yet the cracks were forming. Many viewers had recorded the broadcast, uploading and sharing it with anyone who could still access the internet. International news outlets picked it up. The evidence was out there, sparking doubt and debate. Although Voss’s grip on the official narrative was powerful, the seeds of resistance had been planted.

Chapter 14: Allies Rise

Some days later — Amara had lost track — she was awoken by clanging from the corridor. She forced herself upright as the door swung open. Instead of the usual guard, two different figures in suits stood there. One introduced himself in clipped tones: “Detective Inspector Chambers, Counter-Corruption Task Force.” The other was a woman in a BBC lanyard — someone from the investigative division?

The man nodded politely. “We’ve seen your broadcast. Contrary to official statements, not all law enforcement is under Voss’s sway. We’d like to talk to you.”

Amara could only blink, disoriented. “You… you’re here to help?”

He nodded grimly. “I represent a faction of the Met that’s not compromised. We got word from a sympathetic MI5 contact that your arrest was illegal. This entire facility is a private detention centre run by ex-military contractors. We’ve come to free you.”

Speechless, she followed them down a maze of corridors. She soon discovered Liam was there too, battered and bruised but alive. He embraced Amara weakly. “Thought I’d never see you again,” he whispered.

They were ushered outside into the dawn light. In the distance, faint sirens wailed. A swirl of incomplete intel reached their ears: Voss was facing increasing pressure. Some BBC journalists had walked out in protest. GCHQ loyalists were investigating “irregularities” in the official story about the helicopter crash. Meanwhile, members of Parliament who hadn’t been arrested were demanding answers, although the legislature remained suspended.

A black SUV waited, engine idling. Detective Chambers opened the door. “We’ll get you to safety, Ms Diallo, Mr Walsh. Then we’ll coordinate a plan to amplify your message. The country’s on a knife-edge.”

Amara’s eyes welled with tears — of relief, of exhaustion, of lingering terror. She climbed into the vehicle, glancing back at the imposing structure where she had been held. The fight was not over. But for the first time in days, she glimpsed genuine hope.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

PART FOUR

Chapter 15: Seeds of Counter-Coup

Somewhere in suburban London, in a safe house provided by the Met’s Counter-Corruption Task Force, Amara and Liam met with a small group of conspirators who aimed to restore democratic rule. Among them were veteran BBC journalists who had either quit in protest or been quietly sidelined by the new editorial regime. Also present were a few loyal GCHQ analysts, men and women who had questioned the official helicopter crash narrative.

A map of the UK dominated the kitchen table, along with laptops, printouts, and half-eaten sandwiches. Detective Chambers explained the situation:

“Gideon Voss has effectively become a dictator. Parliament remains suspended. His far-right allies are embedded across state agencies, especially the BBC. Your broadcast woke many people up, but the official apparatus is still strong.”

One of the veteran journalists, Linda Adebayo, added, “Public trust in the BBC is shaken. People sense something’s amiss, but they don’t know who to believe. We need more evidence — and a platform to share it.”

Amara interjected, “The MG-90 transmitter is gone. They seized it. We’d need a different approach.”

A quiet GCHQ analyst called Mandeep chimed in. “We have partial infiltration of the official comms network. If we coordinate with global media, we could get enough real-time coverage to break the blockade. But we’ll need a solid on-air piece. Something that can’t be dismissed as just a ‘deepfake’ or ‘hack.’ We also need to address the helicopter crash proof.”

Liam patted his pockets. “Before we were arrested, I managed to back up some files to a hidden drive. Including the acoustic sabotage evidence from the MoD. We still have that. The bigger question is: how do we get it aired?”

Detective Chambers leaned forward. “We do it the old-fashioned way. We hold a press conference in a secure location, invite foreign correspondents from multiple networks — CNN, Al Jazeera, France 24, you name it. If we broadcast internationally, Voss can’t silence all of them at once. But we need one more critical piece: direct testimony from within the government or the Army. Then the mainstream UK media would have to pick it up.”

Silence fell as the group considered the magnitude of that plan. Finally, Linda said, “I might know someone inside the MoD. She oversaw rotor safety checks before the crash. She’s been on ‘extended leave.’ If we can get her to testify that the helicopter was tampered with, we can blow this case wide open.”

Time was short. They agreed to launch the press conference in 48 hours, giving Linda time to contact her source and giving Mandeep time to coordinate with foreign press. Amara and Liam would gather everything they had — documents, footage, personal statements — and prepare a watertight reveal.

Chapter 16: Sacrifice

In the early hours of the next day, Liam abruptly disappeared. He left a brief note on the kitchen table: “I’m going to find out what happened to the BBC Wales Investigates team. They have the final puzzle piece to expose PA infiltration.”

Amara panicked upon reading it, but he hadn’t provided further details. Worried for his safety, she tried to focus on the plan. Linda rushed around calling her MoD contact, Mandeep set up secure communications, and Detective Chambers arranged an undisclosed venue for the press conference — a community centre in a quiet London suburb. Everyone sensed the tension mounting.

That night, as Amara was reviewing the final evidence, Linda burst in, phone in hand. “Liam’s been shot. He was found outside a BBC regional office, unconscious. They’ve taken him to St Thomas’ Hospital.”

A surge of dread shot through Amara. She rushed to the hospital with Detective Chambers. In the sterile, white-lit corridor, she found Liam in a critical care ward, unconscious but stable. A nurse explained he had a bullet wound in his shoulder and bruises suggesting a violent struggle.

Tears stung Amara’s eyes. She hadn’t known him long, yet they’d become bound by shared risk and purpose. Detective Chambers put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “We’ll find who did this. For now, you need to stay safe.”

Leaving Liam in the care of the doctors, Amara realised how ruthless their enemies were. He must have got too close to the truth about the BBC Wales team — and they tried to silence him. She vowed to see this through, for Liam and for everyone else who had sacrificed so much already.

Chapter 17: The Press Conference

The day of the press conference arrived. As arranged, foreign journalists and a handful of British reporters who had defied the official line made their way to a discreet community centre on the outskirts of London. Word had spread quietly. Outside, tension simmered; unmarked security cars circled the block, likely filled with watchers loyal to Voss.

Amara set up a laptop at the front of a small stage, a portable projector behind her. Rows of folding chairs faced them, with cameras perched on tripods. Linda stood off to one side, conferring with her MoD contact — a woman in a conservative grey suit who looked deeply nervous. Mandeep hovered by the door, controlling a back-channel feed to stream the event online.

At the agreed time, Linda took the podium, clearing her throat. “Thank you all for coming. We know the risks involved. We are here to present evidence that the UK government has been subverted from within by extremist elements, leveraging the BBC to mislead the public.”

She gestured to Amara, who stepped forward, voice trembling. “I’m Amara Diallo, a software engineer formerly with BBC Monitoring. Two weeks ago, I discovered coded messages indicating infiltration of the BBC by far-right group Patriotic Alternative. We have proof of a plan called Operation Black Symphony, designed to shut down internet communications and broadcast propaganda.”

She clicked to display slides: screen captures of the infiltration logs, references to the Yoruba-coded messages, culminating in the sabotage details. Linda’s MoD contact then took the microphone. She explained how her team had documented anomalies with the helicopter’s rotor mechanism — a sabotage that pointed to domestic conspirators, not foreign hackers. A hush fell over the room as journalists scribbled furiously or typed into laptops. Photographers snapped pictures of the displayed documents.

The MoD whistleblower ended with a shaky voice, “When I raised questions, I was put on compulsory leave. My superiors told me to forget everything. But I can’t stay silent.”

Finally, Mandeep introduced a video message from one of the BBC Wales Investigates reporters who had gone missing — filmed in secret and smuggled out. On screen, the reporter revealed that the documentary team had uncovered direct ties between Voss, ex-SAS contractors, and the PA, detailing how they manipulated coverage to stoke fear about migrants. The journalist’s eyes were hollow with exhaustion. “They’re holding us in a black site near Cardiff. We risked everything to get this footage out.”

As the video ended, the assembled journalists erupted with questions. “Have you taken this to Parliament?” “Where is the evidence of direct orders from Gideon Voss?” “Why haven’t mainstream outlets reported this?” Amara answered as best she could, emphasising that the mainstream BBC was compromised. Linda hammered home that the official channels refused to air dissenting views, labelling them “treasonous.”

Within minutes, news alerts pinged across phones and laptops: the press conference was trending internationally. However, trouble was brewing outside. Through a window, Amara spotted black SUVs pulling up, men in paramilitary gear stepping out. “They’re here,” she warned.

Chapter 18: Stand-Off

Men in tactical attire formed a perimeter around the community centre. Some carried firearms openly. The journalists and whistleblowers inside realised they were trapped. A sense of dread blanketed the room. Yet, cameras continued to roll.

One of the paramilitary men approached the main entrance with a megaphone. “This gathering is illegal. Disperse immediately. Surrender all materials.”

Detective Chambers, flanked by a handful of loyal police officers, stood at the door. “We are here lawfully. You have no authority to shut this down.”

A tense standoff ensued. Journalists pointed cameras at the men outside, broadcasting live to the web. Many viewers saw an armed squad trying to silence a press conference. This image alone might tip public opinion. Realising the cameras were on them, the security forces hesitated, uncertain how to proceed without sparking an even greater backlash.

Suddenly, sirens blared. Police vans arrived — official police, not private contractors. More loyal officers emerged, accompanied by a handful of GCHQ liaisons. It appeared that cracks within the state had finally widened enough to produce an open confrontation between Voss’s paramilitaries and the legitimate police. For a heart-stopping moment, it looked as though gunfire might break out. Then, in the face of overwhelming cameras and mounting condemnation, the paramilitaries withdrew into their vehicles and sped away.

Inside the hall, the tension burst into a collective exhalation. The entire press conference — every word, every confrontation — had been live-streamed. The once unstoppable tide of propaganda was finally meeting a formidable countercurrent of evidence and real-time public scrutiny.

Chapter 19: The Dominoes Fall

Over the next 48 hours, the revelations sparked chaos at the highest levels. Domestic and international pressure mounted on Gideon Voss and his coalition to step down. Multiple ministers broke ranks, denouncing the infiltration scheme and the sabotage behind the helicopter crash. Protestors poured into the streets despite martial law, demanding the restoration of Parliament.

Some loyalist forces still tried to maintain order under Voss’s edicts, but the vacuum of legitimacy was becoming obvious. The BBC, under scrutiny from the entire world, was forced to acknowledge the press conference. Senior executives scrambled to distance themselves from Corporate Security. Special committees formed to investigate infiltration claims. Far-right sympathisers within editorial teams tried to spin new conspiracies, but the public was newly wary.

News filtered in that the prime minister — who had survived the helicopter crash with injuries — was preparing to speak out against Voss’s regime. Reports indicated she had been coerced to remain silent. Now, realising the plot had unravelled, she planned a live statement to re-establish parliamentary authority. The hold of the Emergency Coalition Bureau began to crumble. Gideon Voss vanished from public view, rumoured to be in a hidden bunker or fleeing the country.

Amara was swept into a media storm. Journalists from around the globe sought her story. Exhausted but resolute, she gave interviews detailing how she had discovered the Yoruba-coded references in the BBC system. She emphasised that her autistic perspective — her heightened pattern recognition — had helped her see connections that others missed. She honoured Liam’s heroism, telling the world of his sacrifice in seeking the truth. Doctors said he would recover, though slowly.

Chapter 20: Echoes of the Future (Epilogue)

Six months later, Amara sat in a small London café, sipping tea while reading the day’s headlines. The UK had endured a tumultuous transition. An emergency election had replaced many of the old guard, sweeping out officials tied to the far-right infiltration scandal. The BBC faced a major public inquiry, forcing it to re-examine hiring practices, editorial oversight, and external security contracts. Several top executives resigned. Some faced charges of complicity.

A new wave of transparency had emerged. Journalists who had once been muffled found their voices amplified. The infiltration attempt remained a stark warning of how easily trusted institutions could be manipulated. Yet, the resilience displayed by whistleblowers, conscientious insiders, and public outcry had also shown that democracy could be protected — at a cost.

Looking at her phone, Amara saw a message from Liam. He had been discharged from hospital a few weeks earlier, on the mend. She smiled. Their bond was forged in crisis, yet it felt unshakeable. He wrote that he was working with an independent investigative unit, ensuring that future infiltration attempts would be spotted early.

The door of the café opened, and Mary O’Connell walked in, scanning the room. Amara raised a hand. Mary joined her at the table with a warm but weary smile. She had stepped down from her leadership role at BBC Monitoring, though she remained in a consultant capacity to help rebuild trust.

“Fancy seeing your name in all the papers,” Mary said gently. “You did well, Amara. The inquiry team wants to speak with you about the technical details of your findings.”

Amara nodded. “I’ll cooperate, but I’m wary of becoming a figurehead. I just did what I had to.”

Mary stirred her tea. “In times like these, that’s the best any of us can do. But sometimes it makes you a hero.”

Amara blushed, shaking her head. “I’m not a hero. I’m just someone who wouldn’t ignore the truth.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the hum of London life buzzing outside. The city was calmer now, recovering from the trauma. People were still uneasy, but hopeful.

At length, Amara recalled a Yoruba proverb her grandmother had often recited in times of hardship: “Ìtàn kì í parí” — “The story never ends.” That phrase had comforted her through her darkest moments, reminding her that no matter how dire the present seemed, life would continue on, and new chapters would be written.

She whispered it aloud, prompting Mary to ask, “What does that mean?”

Amara smiled faintly. “It means the story’s ongoing, and we all have a role. There’s always a next step, another choice to make, another chance to stand up.” She gazed out at the rain-washed street. “We saved the BBC — and, in a way, the country — from a silent coup. But that doesn’t mean the fight for truth is over. It just means we’re ready for whatever comes next.”

As she left the café, sunlight broke through the clouds, reflecting in puddles on the pavement. The beams of light felt like a promise — a subtle reassurance that, despite all the darkness, the truth had prevailed this time. The quiet ones, those who heard frequencies others ignored, had transformed them into a clarion call for justice. In the months and years ahead, Amara would carry that lesson forward, certain that vigilance and honesty were the best safeguards against tyranny. And though the future remained uncertain, the final echo of her broadcast continued to ripple through the nation’s consciousness: once awakened, people would not be easily silenced again.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

END OF “THE SILENT FREQUENCY”