Gail and the other Liaison officers arrive as I’m finishing my second cup of coffee.
“Rebecca. Good morning. I hope you slept well.”
I nod, and catch Charlie raising her eyebrows at me. “Rebecca?” she mouths, silently.
I roll my eyes. “It’s Bex, actually, Gail. Sorry – I should have said something yesterday.”
“No problem.” She makes a note on her clipboard. “Everything we know about you comes from your government, or from Caroline. If we get something wrong, you need to let me know.”
I nod. “I will. Thanks.”
“So,” she continues. “Today, we’ve got your orientation. I’ll give you the official tour first, and then you can meet with our executive committee.”
I look around the table. All the liaisons have their clipboards out, and there are timetables for each of us.
We might be safe here, but we’re certainly not in control.
*****
“And this is the laundry – the machines are pretty easy to figure out. This is the store room – towels, detergent, washing up liquid – that’s all in here. Help yourselves if you need it, and write down what you take on the sign-out sheet.” Gail opens doors and shows me the rooms as we walk past. She’s showing me round the residential building, behind the offices and hidden from the road. Our rooms are upstairs, and the conference room and canteen are in the other building. “That’s the computer room …” She opens a door into a room with tables lining the walls. Screens and keyboards sit on the tables, a chair in front of each workstation. “You’ll work in here from time to time. Not as much as your friend – he’ll use this room a lot for his academic education – but you’ll all need logins and passwords. I’ll get those sorted for you as soon as I can.”
We’re about to leave, and she catches me looking at the machines.
“You can get to the Internet from here, too.”
I look at her in surprise. “That’s … available? We can just use it, whenever we want?”
Gail laughs. “You can. But first, we’re going to have to give you some ground rules. You’ve never been online before, have you?” I shake my head. “We’ll run through what that means with you – with all of you. There will be some rules. No social media. No blogging or vlogging. We don’t want London figuring out where you are because someone posts a selfie. We’re keeping your arrival quiet for now, while we figure out what’s going on in the government. You understand?”
I laugh. Mum and Dad used to talk about going online, but I have no idea what any of this means. “No selfies. OK.”
*****
We’ve been round the building. Gail has pointed out the gym and the sports hall – no running around outside for us here – and there’s a shooting range in the basement. There’s a covered walkway between the residential building and the main offices, and as long as we stick to that, no one can see us from outside the site. Gail is worried about reporters and photographers with zoom lenses. If someone snaps a photo of us, London will know where we are within hours.
As we walk, she asks if there is anything I need. Clothes, medicines – anything I couldn’t bring with me. I shrug. I’m going to need trainers and gym clothes, and some more jeans and T-shirts won’t hurt. She nods, and writes down my list, and the sizes I need.
I think of the book shelves in my room, and the last time I smuggled an adult novel into school.
“Actually – would you be able to get me some books?”
Gail nods. “Anything in particular?” I think about it, and name a few authors. She makes more notes on her clipboard. “I’ll see what I can do.”
I think of Dan, and the books we both read, discussing them after hours in the common room. It would be great to chat with him again, about something ordinary.
I’m smiling as I walk into my meeting with the Executive Committee of the Opposition In Exile.
*****
“Bex Ellman.”
I nod. I’m sitting on a chair in front of a long table. Gail is next to me, and facing me behind the table are twelve strangers – former politicians, heads of companies – people who made it out of the UK before parliament was dissolved. Before the government declared Martial Law.
“Welcome to Scotland. And welcome to your government in exile. I’m Fiona Price – I’m the chair of the OIE Executive Commitee.” A woman near the centre of the table smiles as she speaks for the committee, and I can feel all twelve of them watching me. Sizing me up. I’m so used to hiding my face – it feels dangerous to be sitting here in front of so many people. My pulse is racing, and I’m fighting panic. I take a calming breath, and listen to what she’s saying.
“You’ve had an eventful journey, from RTS Camp Bishop.” Fiona consults a file of papers in front of her. “You rescued a prisoner, you saved your friends twice, and you’ve avoided capture – what? Four times? Five?” She looks up and down the line of faces at the table. “We’re very impressed with your record, Bex, and we’re very pleased to have you here.”
There’s a moment of quiet. Everyone seems to be waiting. “Thank you,” I say, to fill the silence. “Thank you for getting us out of Newcastle.”
Fiona nods. She crosses her arms on the table in front of her and leans towards me.
“What we’d like to do today, Bex, is to get a feel for what you can do to help us. We’ll give you a place to live, and with the help of the Scottish government, we’ll keep you safe.” She tips her head to one side and smiles again. “But with your skills, and your record, we’re hoping that you can do something for us.”
I nod, fighting the impulse to stand up and walk away. Its not enough that we’re safe. It’s not enough that we’ve signed up to train and fight. They want more.
She holds up a copy of the poster, my face on the waving flag background.
“We’re very grateful for this, Bex. Our volunteers have been putting these up all over the UK, and the response has been fantastic. It’s caught the government off-guard, and they’ve been trying to take the posters down – but we’re putting them back up as quickly as we can. We needed a face for the resistance, and Caroline made a good case that it should be you. I’m glad we can work with you.”
She doesn’t know. No one told her that I didn’t want this. She thinks I signed up to be their figurehead.
I can’t think of anything to say. These people are in charge of my safety, and my future.
And they’re going to teach me to fight. I need to work with them. I need to give them what they want. I need to take their training, and I need to go and rescue Mum.
I force myself to nod. “What is it you want me to do?”
A man sitting further down the table answers.
“We know about your mother, Bex. We know about the broadcasts on PIN.” I nod. “We’d like to make a statement to the government. We’d like to make some broadcasts of our own. We can send TV signals into the UK from sea-based broadcast platforms, and we can reach the north of England from here. We could reach ordinary people in their homes.”
I stare at him. What is he suggesting?
“We’d like to use you – use your image and your voice – to fight back. To tell the people of the UK that they can resist. To …”
I’m out of my chair and walking to the table before I can stop myself. The man looks up at me in surprise as I stand in front of him. I try to keep my voice calm.
“My mother is in prison in London. She’s needs round-the-clock medical care, and she’s been arrested and put in a cell.” I lean towards him, finger pointed at my chest. “Because of me. Because of what I did. She’s being used to keep me under control. Her face and her voice are being used to make me feel …” I can’t put this into words. I close my eyes and shake my head, clenching my fists. “Make me feel as if I’m to blame. For everything. Everything I’ve done. Everything you’re so impressed with.”
The man in front of me looks down at his notes. I force myself to keep my fists at my sides. I take a s
tep back and look up and down the table, catching the eyes of everyone on the committee.
“While you’re using me as the hero of the resistance, putting my face on posters and putting your volunteers in danger, the government is using my own mother against me. They can do anything to her. If they see my face on a poster, they can take it out on her, and they can put that on TV for me to see.”
I take another deep breath, relax my hands, and focus on speaking slowly and clearly.
“If you put me on TV, if you use me as your face and voice, you’ll be as bad as they are.” There’s a murmur from the committee, but I ignore them. “I don’t want my face out there. I don’t want my voice out there. And I don’t want anything I do here to hurt my mother.” I point at the poster on the table. “That? I’m too late to object to that. You’ve already put my face on bus shelters and walls and advertising boards all over the UK. Fine. That’s what I’ve done for you. But the TV? No. No more. I will not put my mother at risk.”
I turn back to my chair as Gail stands up.
“Madam Chairman,” she says, calmly. “I think it might be time to give Bex a break. Can we reconvene at a later date?”
The woman behind me sounds angry. “I suppose we can postpone this conversation. Bex?” I turn round and meet her gaze. “Thank you for your input. We’ll discuss what you’ve said, and we’ll talk to you again.” I nod, biting my tongue. “And I am sorry about your mother. We’re doing everything we can …”
But I’m already walking out of the room. I don’t want to hear what she has to say about Mum.
*****
“Front-line doll. Again.” I slam my fist into the table. Charlie puts her hand over mine, but she doesn’t say anything.
“It’s not all bad, Bex,” Amy puts her hand on my shoulder. “They’re still going to train us, and get us ready to fight.”
“On whose terms? On theirs? What will we be fighting for? Do we get a say?”
Dan leans over the table, pushing his empty plate out of the way. “Come on, Bex. They’re trying to help. And they’re trying to start a revolution. We’re not exactly at the top of their priority list.”
I shake my head. “Sure. But they’re not taking the time to listen. We’re here. They went to all that trouble to get us out of the UK, and they’re feeding us and clothing us and giving us somewhere to live, but they can’t be bothered to listen to us.”
Amy squeezes my shoulder.
“I thought it would be different, here. I thought they’d be more …”
“Humane? Kind?” Charlie nods. “That would have been nice. But if you’re fighting a military dictatorship, you have to think like a military dictatorship. They know they need to be tough – it’s just a shame that they think they need to be tough with you.”
We sit in the empty dining room. Jake ate his meal and left, but the rest of us stayed, drinking tea and coffee and talking about our days. The staff who were here for dinner have drifted away, and the kitchen staff have rolled down the serving shutter and left us alone.
Dan breaks the silence. “Anyone know how to get PIN?” He checks his watch. “It’s nearly time for the news.”
He looks around the table. Everyone shrugs.
We’re powerless here. We can’t even check on our friends. We can’t see the news from home.
I push my plate away. “I’m going to bed. See you all for breakfast.”
No one stops me as I walk away.
Elizabeth
Ketty
Bracken is in the office first thing, for a meeting with Franks. I fetch the coffee and the briefing papers, then phone the hospital, but there’s no change.
Jackson. Wake up. Tell me what I’m doing here.
I make sure the evidence forms have reached the archive staff, and start drafting a trial announcement for PIN. I need them to play this up – promote it in advance and build up expectations. I need the country to be watching when we put Margaret on the stage. Someone at PIN will write the script for me, but I need to tell them what to say.
Terrorist trials are usually quick and predictable. There’s always a guilty verdict, and it’s the firing squad, not the trial, that makes the news on PIN. But Lee’s right – Margaret’s trial needs to be an event. We need to show the evidence. We need to build up the case. We need to bring the audience with us, and have them shouting for blood before we’ve even passed a verdict. We need to make everyone feel involved, and invested. We need to make William and Bex understand what we can do.
This needs to be good.
*****
The car is waiting for us when Bracken gets out of his meeting. I’ve called the prison, and by the time we get there Elizabeth is waiting in the interrogation room, handcuffed to the table, with two guards outside the door. My card lets us through the door with no checks, and we’re waved through to the interrogation area without an escort. We’re free to do whatever we want. Franks has handed me power and confidence, and the feeling is like a lightning bolt in my hands.
Bracken takes the observation room, and I take a seat across the table from the prisoner. She’s sporting a black eye and a graze on her cheek, large enough to show up on the TV footage.
I hope you’re watching, Bex.
When the recording begins, I give her a broad smile. “Good morning, Elizabeth.” She tilts her head and looks at me, but says nothing. “How are you this morning? You look as if you’ve been in a fight.”
“You try taking a shower when your carers are 200 miles away.”
I think about my hospital bed. Trying to convince the nurses to let me go back to Camp Bishop.
Careful, Ketty. Don’t let her get under your skin.
She looks me in the eye. “How’s my daughter?”
My smile widens. “Well, that’s the important question, isn’t it?”
She laughs. “Still looking for her? Still searching through old ladies’ wardrobes and bathrooms? I hope she’s not causing you too much trouble.”
“Not at all, Elizabeth. In fact, we’re very close to tracking her down.” I wave my hand at the room. “You might have company soon. A little family reunion?”
She shakes her head. “I doubt it, Corporal. I think Bex has people looking out for her. I think she has a team – I think she has friends. All those people we see on the news.” She leans forward, over her cuffed hands. “Do you have friends, Corporal? Are there people who look out for you? Or are you just a cog in this unpleasant machine?”
I let my smile fade. I push away thoughts of Jackson, and pick up the folder in front of me. I pull out a photo of Margaret Watson – handcuffs, jumpsuit – and put it on the table in front of the prisoner.
She sits back, shrugging. “Who’s that?”
“Oh, you’re right. Your daughter has a team. We think she’s the leader of her little terrorist gang. This?” I point at the photo. “This is Margaret Watson. She was at school with your daughter. She’s currently enjoying the comforts of the cell two doors from your own.”
“So?”
“I don’t think you understand. This is a friend of your daughter’s. Margaret was arrested at the site of a terrorist camp. We found all sorts of interesting things on the site. Bomb-making equipment, maps – even a rocket launcher. Do you know what else we found?”
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
I pull out a photo of Sheena Richards and place it on the table.
“We found one of Bex’s teachers, from that lovely, expensive school. Probably the inspiration for Bex’s desertion from camp. She’s locked up down the corridor, too.”
I smile. “And then we found one of your daughter’s friends from Camp Bishop, guarding a terrorist hideout.” I pull a photo of Saunders from the file. He’s lying on the floor in the bunker. The image is cropped so you can’t see the bullet wound, but it’s pretty clear that he’s no longer breathing. “Unfortunately, he didn’t survive the experience.”
She looks at the photo, and quickly looks away
. He looks younger than his sixteen years, and the image is brutal.
“What does this have to do with finding my daughter, Corporal?”
“We’re certain that Bex was one of the people he was guarding. He was also guarding the people you’ve seen with her on PIN.” I lean towards her. “You see, being friends with your daughter turns out to be a dangerous pastime. I wonder how long it will be before her friends realise that. Before they decide to go their own way. Before her little team evaporates.”
Elizabeth looks at me again, steel behind her eyes. She leans forward.
“Corporal. Have you ever had a friend? Do you actually know what that means? Do you honestly think that kids who have gone through all this together would leave each other behind?” She shakes her head. “I feel sorry for you. You really don’t know what’s keeping them together, do you?”
“I hardly think that’s the point, Elizabeth.”
“Oh, but I think it is. I think you’re the kind of person who does leave people behind. I think you bail at the first sign of conflict. I think you’d prefer to be alone, and tell yourself that you’re tough, rather than take a risk and rely on someone else.” She smiles. “I think you’d rather hurt people than help them.” She tugs at her handcuffs. “I think you enjoy this. And I think you have no idea what gives my daughter the advantage over you.” She leans forward again and lowers her voice. “You see, my daughter’s friends know that she won’t hurt them. They know that she’ll stand by them, and look after them, and encourage them. And she knows that they’ll do the same for her. They’re a team, Corporal. Not a hierarchy. Not an opportunity for promotion. They’re in this together. They’re a tribe.”
She sits back, a smug look on her face. I watch her in silence for a moment.
Don’t let her provoke you, Ketty. We’ll see who gets out of this in the end.
I force myself to focus on the questions I want to ask.
“And where do you think this tribe would be hiding?”
The Battle Ground Series: Books 1-3 Page 57
