State Sponsored Terror

by David Carter

  Adam and Eve laughed like children.

  ‘He is, really he is,’ insisted Ged.

  ‘We need more people,’ said Adam, ‘that’s why we are talking to you.’

  ‘Adam and Eve together, kind of starting a new world, eh?’ muttered Ged, ‘happened before, ain’t it?’

  Eve giggled and Adam said: ‘Yeah, you could look at it that way.’

  ‘I know a few people,’ said Ged.

  ‘He knows everyone,’ butted in Dolores, ‘in our world, he does.’

  ‘How many?’ asked Eve.

  Ged pulled a face and muttered, ‘About nine thousand.’

  ‘How many!’ said Adam, his eyes ablaze.

  ‘You heard,’ said Ged.

  ‘How so?’ asked Eve.

  ‘He’s on the Romany Committee,’ said Dolores, ‘I always thought it was just an excuse for nights out with the boys, you know, loads of drinks and games of darts, but he takes it dead serious.’

  ‘You never struck me as a committee man,’ said Adam.

  ‘I am not, usually, but they asked me, and it would have been rude to refuse.’

  ‘And they are all against the government?’

  ‘Only lock stock and barrel.’

  ‘And they like the King?’ said Eve.

  ‘What do you think? He’s descended....’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, we got that bit,’ said Eve.

  ‘And they would help us?’ said Adam.

  Ged pursed his lips.

  ‘Could do. Some of them have been looking for a damned good fight for donkey’s years. I think this lark might be right up their street.’

  ‘I like the sound of that,’ said Adam.

  ‘They travel all over, they exchange information, they keep themselves to themselves, and best of all, they operate outside the system. In many cases, their very being is not recorded anywhere, and when it comes to it, they will always defend their own,’ rambled Ged. ‘Always.’

  ‘Sounds perfect,’ said Adam.

  ‘It has been well worth the trip,’ said Eve, ‘to Windsor.’

  ‘It has,’ agreed Adam.

  ‘Thanks for taking us,’ said Eve.

  Ged shrugged and dragged big time on his cigarette.

  LATER, THEY TRUNDLED through Romsey and Ower and entered the long straight stretch that runs beside the motorway, heading west down toward the Cadnam roundabout. They came across some of Ged’s friends; camped on the roadside, busying themselves; preparing firewood and roses, and selling anything that might raise a few quid. They waved at the queer lot sitting high on the rolling wagon, and offered ribald abuse, and hand signals that Ged and Dolores returned with interest.

  ‘Where do they get roses from at this time of year?’ asked Eve.

  ‘A gypsy can always produce a rose,’ said Dolores, ‘ain’t that so, Ged?’

  ‘Never seen a gypsy caravan without one,’ he said, hurling his fag end into a nearby culvert.

  It was snowing as they rolled through Copythorne village, passing the pink hued church, the pinkness somehow highlighted by the whiteness of the snow. It reminded Ged of the freshly scrubbed skin of a child, of his own childhood, for his mother had been unmerciful with that old scrubbing brush she had made for just that purpose.

  In the graveyard, the blackened tombstones were topped with six inches of snow. They looked like giant glasses of stout. The whole scene resembling a painting from Christmas’s of times long past.

  The four of them sat abreast, Hawkeye on Dolores’s knee, and stared ahead through the winter light, as a clump of fresh snow fell from the highest branch of an ancient oak. It splattered onto the slushy road before them, the horse eyeing it warily, as Hawkeye waved at it.

  ‘S’alright boy,’ said Ged, whispering to the animal, or was he talking to the boy?

  The wagon eased down a slight slope, past the triangular shaped weed-infested pond on the right side that only ever boasted water in winter. It was overflowing, as fresh snowflakes gently toppled in and vanished.

  They came to the newsagents where rough handwritten signs were pinned up outside that said: NEWS & MAGS and POTATOES and FIREWOOD, and ROSES and STRAWBERRIES in SEASON, and FLOWERS and HAY & STRAW, and DUCK & GOOSE EGGS, and CAMPING GAS and LOTTERY, and HONEY, and LOCAL MADE CHEASE, spelt wrong, and HAND-MADE-MARMALADE, rhyming like a song in a children’s book. Beside the main door was a newspaper billposter for that new paper that no one ever bought: National Today. The faux handwritten teaser below the blue masthead shouted two words to anyone who could be bothered looking.

  PM QUIZZED!

  Adam glanced at it, and thought nothing of it, and then something clicked.

  PM QUIZZED!

  What the hell was that all about?

  ‘Stop!’ he yelled. ‘For the shop!’

  ‘Aye,’ said Ged, pulling the wagon to the side of the road.

  Adam jumped down.

  Dolores shouted after him: ‘Can you get us a loaf?’

  ‘And some firelighters,’ bawled Ged. ‘Some money?’

  ‘On me,’ shouted Adam back over his shoulder, as he sprinted across the road, and disappeared inside.

  ‘What does he want?’ said Dolores.

  ‘No idea,’ said Eve.

  ‘Perhaps it’s man’s things,’ said Ged mischievously.

  ‘Don’t be so ridiculous,’ said Eve, though she couldn’t suppress a blush.

  ‘I only meant shaving stuff, and the like.’

  ‘Don’t pay any attention to him,’ said Dolores. ‘Sarcastic humour, I am always telling him off about it.’

  Five minutes passed and Adam reappeared. He ran across the road and leapt upsides.

  ‘Walk on,’ said Ged, as everyone strained to see what was in the feeble brown paper bag.

  ‘Two loaves,’ he said, ‘I got a cut and a sliced, didn’t know which you wanted,’ as he passed the bread to Dolores.

  ‘Ta, lad.’

  ‘Box of firelighters,’ which he held up and slung behind them, ‘and this.’

  Hawkeye’s eyes almost fell from his head.

  White chocolate.

  ‘Is it all right?’ said Adam, to Dolores.

  She deferred to Ged.

  ‘Go on then,’ he said, though Adam could guess he wasn’t keen. ‘He may as well have it now before he has any teeth in his head to rot.’

  Adam gave the tiny bar to Dolores to unwrap. Hawkeye began swinging his arms frantically back and forth, his tiny, yet chubby fingers attempting to grasp the still wrapped sweeties.

  ‘And this,’ said Adam, showing the paper to Eve.

  Dolores could barely read, and saw newspapers as a wrapping, heating and personal hygiene tool, and not much else.

  PM QUIZZED!

  ‘What’s that all about?’ said Ged.

  ‘Read it out loud,’ said Eve.

  Adam took a big breath and began.

  Senior Scotland Yard detectives were tonight locked in discussions with the Prime Minister, Mrs Thelma Bletchington. This follows the still unexplained death of the head of the Special Police Against Terrorism, Miss Elizabeth Mariner, who was killed yesterday, while attending an award ceremony at Buckingham Palace. It is believed she was stabbed to death by an as yet, unnamed assailant. No one has so far been charged with any offence. National Today believes that Scotland Yard detectives are centring their enquiries on unlawful activities carried out within several of the nationwide Bletchington Clinics. One senior government minister is reported to have said: There have been numerous incidents of state sponsored terror, nothing less.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Adam. ‘Liz Mariner dead! I can’t believe it! I spent time at her apartment; till I found out she was an undercover SPAT! She was the one who interrogated me; she was the one who gave me the chocolate bar I carved into a dagger....’

  ‘The Bletchington Clinic,’ interrupted Eve, ‘I think that’s where mum and dad are. Go on, Ads. Read some more.’

  Adam resumed.

  The mysterious Bletchin
gton Clinics have been the subject of rumour for some time, but our reporter understands that New Scotland Yard enquiries are being pursued in relation to unexplained deaths at several of the clinics.

  ‘Deaths!’ said Eve.

  ‘Sounds like the wheels are coming off,’ said Ged.

  ‘Go on! Go on!’ shouted Eve.

  Mister John Bletchington is also being held by Scotland Yard, yet it is believed that he was being used solely as a figurehead. A spokesman for John Bletchington last night said that he had nothing whatsoever to do with any activities conducted within the clinics bearing his name; indeed he insisted he had never set foot in any one of the centres, once they had opened.

  ‘What else?’ said Eve, ever more frantic. ‘What else?’

  Adam was beginning to regret reading aloud. ‘It’ll be all right,’ he said; though they could all hear the doubt in his voice.

  ‘What else?’ screamed Eve, ignoring the sympathy.

  Relatives who believe a member of their family may have been held in any of the forty-two Bletchington Clinics nationwide can contact the authorities on Freephone number 5060-5060.

  ‘We have to stop,’ yelled Eve. ‘Right now!’

  ‘I think we’d better,’ said Adam, ‘at the next phone box.’

  Ged nodded.

  They pulled up at the BP station where a public telephone box stood rooted on the grass verge outside.

  ‘Do you want me to come with you?’ said Adam.

  ‘No!’ said Eve. ‘Give me the paper!’

  She took the newspaper and jumped down and skipped across to the box, and went inside. Sitting on the wagon, the others watched her fingers pumping in the number, monitoring her face through the dusty glass. They didn’t need telling.

  ‘I think you’d better go to her,’ said Ged.

  Eve had dropped the handset. It was swinging like a hangman’s noose.

  ‘Shit!’ said Adam, jumping down and leaping across the verge.

  Eve stumbled from the box and fell into his arms.

  ‘Dad’s dead,’ she whispered. ‘I just can’t believe it! Dead! They bloody murdered him. The bastards! Even I didn’t think they would go that far!’

  Adam wasn’t at all surprised, though he didn’t say. He knew full well what they were capable of. He had seen their agents in action at first hand. His mind flooded back to Lilac Cottage, and that day the previous October, a day that now seemed half a lifetime ago, and that picture of his mother, lying defiled and dying in the meadow beyond her beloved garden where she talked to the plants.

  ‘I’m so sorry, darling,’ he whispered.

  He had never called anyone darling before, nor ever would again, except Eve.

  ‘And your mum? What of her?’

  ‘Mum’s alive,’ said Eve, forcing a smile, yet still thinking of her dad. ‘She was due to go on her trip tomorrow, they said. She escaped by the skin of her teeth, they told me it was all down to the prompt actions of the King. It was he who brought it all to light.’

  ‘You were right about him all along.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘and there’s more.’

  ‘What more?’

  ‘Thelma Bletchington has been charged with multiple murder.’

  ‘What? No!’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I can’t believe it. The wheels really have fallen off.’

  ‘Well and truly.’

  ‘Come on, let’s tell the others,’ said Adam.

  Afterwards, talking away on the wagon, they went over it all again, so far as they knew.

  ‘Look at this,’ said Adam, turning to the back page of the paper. This time Eve read to herself.

  The Norwegian Government would like to thank the British Government, and especially the King, for the prompt return of the long lost Tinbergen Papers. These historic documents inspired our countrymen in their darkest hour. The Norwegian people would like to thank the brave young men and women of Britain who risked their lives in keeping these documents safe, before eventually passing them to their King. One day soon, the Norwegian Government would like to thank these people in person.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Eve.

  ‘What?’ said Adam.

  ‘Read that,’ she said, handing him the paper, and after that Dolores said: ‘So what will happen to this Bletchington woman now?’

  ‘Simple,’ said Ged. ‘She brought back the rope. Methinks that might be something she will come to regret.’

  ‘That’s terrible!’ said Dolores. ‘Hanging a woman.’

  ‘No it isn’t,’ said Eve, ‘not in her case.’

  ‘Second that!’ shouted Adam.

  There followed a period of silence, and in their minds they could all see Thelma B swinging from the end of a rope, immaculately dressed in designer gear, and the black stockings she favoured so much, her makeup perfect, her nails painted red and neatly trimmed, hand and foot, her hair slick and styled, her fillings double checked to make sure they were just so, and yet despite everything, even in death, that fixed smile would still be on her striking face.

  ‘Seems hard to believe,’ said Adam.

  ‘It seems like we have woken from the most hideous nightmare,’ said Eve.

  ‘At least we are awake,’ said Ged, ‘still here to live our lives, see the sun come up, hear the birds sing, dream our dreams, listen to the wind in the trees, see our kids grow up.’

  Hawkeye gurgled and waved at two passing horse-riders. They grinned at the child and shouted a cheery greeting. There was something in their manner that suggested a great weight had been lifted from their shoulders, that somehow things from now on would be different. They all smiled and waved back.

  ‘Why don’t you stay with us?’ said Ged. ‘Join us, like, full time, honorary gypsies.’

  ‘I’d like to,’ said Adam, ‘but....’

  ‘We have to go and find mother,’ said Eve.

  ‘That makes sense, I suppose,’ said Ged.

  ‘But.... but....’ said Eve. ‘If mum will come with us, can she come too?’

  Ged smiled in that russet way of his.

  ‘Is she pretty?’

  ‘Ged!’ chided Dolores.

  ‘Suppose she is,’ said Eve, ‘in an old kind of way.’

  ‘How old is she?’

  ‘Thirty-eight.’

  ‘That is not so old,’ said Ged, shaking his head. ‘Course she can come.’

  ‘Where shall we meet? If we can make it, that is,’ asked Adam.

  ‘You know the clearing by the four big oaks?’

  Eve smiled, as if that spot meant something special.

  ‘You mean that magical place, deep in the forest?’

  Ged didn’t have to speak to confirm that this indeed was the site he saw in his head.

  ‘We will be there on the next two full moons, after that, we won’t be there again.’

  ‘We’ll be there,’ said Adam. ‘So long as Eve’s mum agrees.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Eve, smiling and reaching across and tickling Hawkeye. ‘We will be there, Ged with a hard G, Petulengro, if we possibly can.’

  ‘Don’t tell anyone of that place,’ insisted Dolores. ‘It’s our place.’

  ‘We won’t,’ said Adam. ‘For sure.’

  ‘And it’s our secret,’ said Eve. ‘No one will ever know of it, not ever, except us.’

  ‘Blood brothers!’ said Ged, presenting his turned up wrist to Adam and Eve.

  ‘Blood brothers!’ they recited in turn, touching their wrists with his, as if blood was truly flowing.

  ‘And sisters,’ said Dolores.

  ‘Yeah, and sisters,’ agreed Eve.

  Hawkeye eyed the performance. It didn’t interest him that much. He was hungry again, and was beginning to make it known.

  ‘God love us,’ said Dollars. ‘He’s starving again. Wouldn’t you just know it? God love us all.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Eve, ‘those of us that remain.’

  Author’s Notes

  THANK YOU FOR ACQUIRING my boo
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