I’m falling. This is real.
I nod again, concentrating on my breathing. I’m afraid I’ll lose my voice if I try to say anything.
“Joining the committee won’t be easy. Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
“Yes.” I’m nodding. “Yes. This is what I want.”
“And you understand about keeping our discussions secret? No discussion with anyone outside the committee?”
“Not even …?”
“Not even your friends, Bex. This is our future we’re talking about. Our plans for overthrowing a military government. No one can know what we talk about. Can you commit to that?”
I look down at my hands. I can hear Charlie at breakfast, telling us to stick together. I think about Jake, waiting to leave Scotland behind – waiting to leave us. I don’t want my tribe to get smaller, and Fiona is asking me to keep secrets from them. She’s asking me to be a tribe of one.
I think of Mum’s letter. Her encouragement to make friends and stay strong.
How can I do this without Dan? Without Amy? Without Charlie?
But Mum said more than that. She told me to stand up for what’s right. Stand up for what’s good.
And to stand up for myself.
This is how I play their game. This is how I aim to live. This is how I aim to win.
This is what I need to do.
I can’t leave with Jake, I can’t join Neesh’s army. But I can do this.
It hurts, leaving my friends behind, but this is how I fight back. This is how I make a difference.
I look Fiona in the eyes.
“Yes. I can commit to that.”
She smiles again.
“Welcome aboard, Committee Member Ellman. No point in waiting around, so your first meeting is tomorrow, at ten.”
Morning
KETTY
I wake to the sound of my alarm. My head is pounding, and my knee is an explosion of pain. I reach for the painkillers in my bedside drawer and dry-swallow two bitter tablets as I try to remember what happened. What made everything hurt.
And then it all comes back to me. Drinking. Dancing. And the kiss with Conrad, by the river.
I hide my face in my hands. The pain is bringing tears to my eyes, and the memory of electricity, of his lips on mine, his hands on my skin, is vivid and clear.
Your place or mine?
My stumbling efforts to push him away, and the look of contempt on his face as I left. The knowledge that I’ve handed him another advantage to use against me. Another reason to underestimate me. Another way to manipulate me.
I’m groaning as I think about facing him again. I know he’ll be smirking. I know he’ll mock me for walking away. I didn’t teach him the lesson I taught Jackson – not to assume. Not to take advantage. I let myself get swept away in the freedom of a night away from work. Away from Bracken.
And I let myself enjoy it.
Stupid, Ketty. Really stupid. You’re better than that.
The pain in my knee is like a hammer, smashing into the scar with every heartbeat. My head is almost as bad, and with my hands over my face, I feel as if my fingertips are holding my skull together.
What would Jackson say? He’d drag me out of bed, for a start. Self-pity is an ugly thing, and he wouldn’t stand for it.
And he’d mock me for drinking with Conrad. For kissing Conrad. For losing myself.
Get up, Ketty. Discipline. Determination. Backbone. Face this, deal with it, move on.
*****
“What happened?” Bracken starts to stand as I walk into his office, but I wave him back to his chair.
“Nothing, Sir,” I say, as I cross the room. I wrapped two bandages round my knee this morning, but nothing can hide the limp as I walk. “I’ve twisted it. Nothing serious.”
He nods, a look of concern on his face. “I hope that’s all.”
I put a cup of coffee in front of him, and I’m shaking two painkillers out of the bottle when he points to one of the chairs.
“Sit down, Ketty. Stop putting weight on your knee.”
“Yes, Sir.” I sink gratefully into the chair.
We’re both on coffee and painkillers this morning. I couldn’t face breakfast, so I drank a bottle of water and bandaged my knee as tightly as I could without screaming. The pain is dulled, but still there. I understand Bracken’s decision to go on drinking, if sobering up feels like this.
Careful, Ketty. Don’t let his weakness – Dad’s weakness – drag you down.
He watches my face as I take the weight off my leg.
“Go home, Ketty. Get some rest.”
I shake my head. “No, Sir. I have plenty to do here. I can handle it.”
And if I go home, I’ll be thinking about Conrad, and my stupid decisions. I’d rather be here.
He shrugs. He’s known me too long to expect anything less.
“So what’s in the diary for today?”
I run through his diary from memory, but the thudding headache distracts me, and I have to stop and think.
“Are you sure you’re OK?”
I force myself to sit up straight in the chair. “I’m fine, Sir.”
He nods. “So. What about this afternoon?”
“Diary’s clear, Sir.” I look at him. “I was thinking about booking Enhanced Interrogation for Margaret Watson.”
He shakes his head. “Not today, Ketty.” I start to protest, but he holds up his hand. “You can’t stand up, and I don’t think I have the stomach for it. Not today.”
He can’t meet my eyes. I think back to his violent outburst two days ago. Slamming the door closed over my shoulder. Shouting and raging as I waited for him to throw a punch.
Still in the sorry phase are we, Sir? Not ready to lash out again?
“I could go, Sir. I could run the interrogation.”
“No.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head again. His face is pale, and I notice that his hands are shaking.
I raise my eyebrows.
So we’re both having flashbacks this morning, are we? Both regretting what we’ve done? Good. We both deserve it.
“Another day, Ketty. Another day.”
*****
It’s lunchtime before I run into Conrad. I’ve had coffee and water and painkillers, and my headache is starting to fade, but the pain in my knee is constant.
In the Ladies’ toilets I peel off both bandages, swallowing a scream as I release the pressure on the swollen joint. I bend and straighten my leg, and the edges of my vision turn grey as the pain ignites again. I sit for a moment on the tiled floor, head back against the wall, eyes closed. I try to remember the sensation of switching on the PowerGel, the creeping cold that pushed into the joint and took away the pain. I’m thumping my fist on the floor in frustration when I think about Lee, and his failure to offer me a replacement to the unit I lost at Makepeace Farm. The unit Jake Taylor destroyed with his armour-piercing bullets. The pain doesn’t fade, and I find myself running through what happened last night. What I did to deserve this.
What were you thinking? This is what happens when you drop your guard. When you lose your discipline. This is what happens to other people, Ketty. Not you.
Focus on Bracken. Focus on the job. Don’t get distracted.
I take a deep breath, and bring my knee up within reach. I wrap first one bandage, then the other, around the joint, and the livid, red scar. The mess Dan’s bullet made of my knee. I pull each circuit tight, tugging at the end of the bandage and taking a deep breath each time to control the pain. When I’m done, I straighten my uniform and pull myself to my feet. I lean against the washbasin, staring at my white face in the mirror. I throw cold water onto my face, and dry my eyes with a paper towel.
Come on, Ketty. You’ve done this before. One step, then another. One step, then the next. Keep walking.
I lean back and take my weight on both legs. There’s a jolt of pain, but the bandage keeps my knee steady.
Turn around. Walk out of here. Get ba
ck to work.
I step out into the corridor. I’m limping, but I’m trying to keep the pain from my face.
There are footsteps behind me on the polished floor as I walk towards my office. Someone grabs my elbow and pulls me round a corner, into a dead-end corridor with a window seat and a view of the light well. I gasp as my knee twists, and Conrad pulls me round to face him. His hand grips my elbow.
“What was that last night, Ketty? What happened?”
I roll my eyes and try to ignore the pain. This is all I need right now.
“What was what, David?”
“You were … we were …” I nod. “And then you left.”
I shake my head. “I changed my mind.” I look at him, expecting a smirk or an insult, but he’s serious. “Is that it, Corporal? Does that answer your question?” I glare at his hand on my arm. “Or are you hoping for another chance?”
He looks down, and releases his grip, holding up both hands in front of him.
“Sorry, Ketty. Sorry.”
I turn to leave, but he steps in front of me. I realise I’m clenching my fists and tensing for a fight.
“We’re in trouble, Ketty,” he says, in a quiet voice. “Franks will use this against us.”
I look at him. “Last night?” He nods. “You said there wasn’t a policy about seeing other members of staff.”
He shrugs. “She won’t be happy.”
I stand up straight, weight shifted away from my injured knee.
“So what, David? Nothing happened. I walked away.” I shake my head, thinking about what he’s saying. “And how will she know?”
He shrugs again. “She’ll know. It’s something for her to hold against me. Against you. Against Bracken.”
“Why would …?”
“To make sure Bracken votes the right way on the Terrorism Committee. To make sure he puts his name to whatever the committee decides.” His voice is a whisper now. He shakes his head. “You still don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what, David? What are you talking about?”
He steps back and looks up and down the corridor, then turns towards me again. I step away, putting space between us. I can’t be near him, after last night.
“It’s all about control. It’s like using Sheena Richards to get to her father. Franks controls all of us. She’s got Bracken’s drinking. She’s got Lee and Holden’s names on the Leominster weapons test. She can get rid of any of us, if we don’t keep the bombings coming.
“And now she’s got this on me. If she decides that it constitutes inappropriate behaviour, she can fire me. She can send Bracken home with a Dishonourable Discharge. She can certainly fire you – for putting Elizabeth’s injuries on TV, and now for this.”
I shake my head. “But we’re not on the Terrorism Committee …”
He gives me a long look. “I have my role to play, Ketty. And I’d like to keep it that way.”
More cryptic warnings? More mysteries above my pay grade?
And then I realise what he said.
“… if we don’t keep the bombings coming.”
“Watch out, Ketty. Be careful. OK?” He turns to go, but I grab his elbow and turn him back to face me.
“Keep the bombings coming?” He stares at me, a look of alarm spreading over his face. “Is that what you do, on the committee?”
He looks down. “You didn’t hear that, Corporal,” he says, quietly. “And you certainly didn’t hear it from me.”
He tries to turn again, but I tighten my grip.
“What’s your role, Corporal? What is it you bring to this twisted party?”
He shakes his head, and tries to pry my fingers from his arm.
“Don’t, Ketty. Don’t. Go back to cleaning up after Bracken. Keep your head down. Don’t do anything stupid, and stay out of Lee’s way.” He drops my hand, and walks quickly away down the corridor.
I sink back onto the window seat.
Is this what Bracken can’t handle? False flag attacks to keep Franks and the Home Forces in power? Attacks on the civilians we’re supposed to be protecting?
If it’s true, I’m guessing William Richards is helping them. William, and David. Franks has a committee of people she can blackmail to keep them in line.
Franks is protected. This is what Conrad has been trying to tell me. If anyone finds out, it’s Lee and the committee who face the firing squads.
Franks is in control. She makes sure the committee members know their careers are over if they don’t keep bombing their own people.
I feel dizzy. I feel as if the floor is tilting under me.
If I’m right, Franks has no intention of handing back power to Parliament. She has everything she needs to keep people afraid. From the outside, it looks as if she’s doing everything she can to defeat the terrorists. But from the inside? She’s one of them.
I run my hands over my face.
This is crazy, Ketty.
But as much as it horrifies me, it makes sense. If Franks can keep the bombings coming, people will beg her to protect them. She can stay in power for as long as she has a Terrorism Committee to handle the details. A committee she can control and threaten – and blame, if anyone finds out what they do.
I close my eyes. Brace my arms against the polished wooden seat.
The scale of the deception is staggering. The people of the UK think we’re protecting them. They think we’re the good guys, and the resistance cells are the people we need to defeat. They trust us to keep them safe.
They trust us to do the right thing.
And now I’m involved. Franks has a list of crimes she can use to send me home, and that’s enough to keep Bracken in line.
I’m falling. The floor is dropping away.
She’s using us – she’s using me – to keep the bombings coming. To make sure Bracken supports everything Lee suggests. And she’s protecting herself – passing the blame to Lee, and Bracken.
And me.
Come on, Ketty. This can’t be true.
I’m shaking my head, my fingers gripping the edge of the seat.
If this is true, if what Conrad said is right, then we’re running the bombings. We’re picking the targets and we’re sending resistance cells to attack them. We’re keeping people afraid. Franks said that we’re protecting people from the chaos of large-scale attacks. But we’re not stopping the terrorists – we’re controlling them.
If this is true, then Bracken was right. We’re the bad guys.
Eyes closed, I lean back against the window. This isn’t what I signed up for. This is messy and dangerous.
All those hints, all those cryptic clues from Conrad. This is what he’s been hiding.
This is what he wants me to know.
What does this mean for me? If I don’t know what I’m supporting, I’m useful. I’m easy to manipulate. Lee can use me to get rid of Bracken. Franks can use me to cover her tracks.
But if I know? If I understand what’s at stake? I’m a target. I’m disposable.
My knuckles are white against the edge of the seat. No one can find out what I know. I have to protect myself, and for now, that means protecting Bracken.
It means supporting Franks, and Lee.
It means keeping quiet.
Choose a side, Ketty. Make a decision.
But I’m trapped. I don’t have a choice.
If I choose to speak up, if I tell people what’s happening, Franks will send me home. Or lock me up, or worse. But if I cooperate, I’m helping. I’m involved.
Breathe, Ketty. Keep yourself safe. Survive. Don’t let them destroy everything you’ve worked for.
I can’t go home. I can’t go back to Dad. I need to focus on my job.
Breathe.
Track Bex and her gang. Get Jake to London. Make Margaret’s trial the biggest event PIN has ever seen. Keep myself busy, and keep myself safe.
Pretend I’m not part of Franks’ plans.
I release my grip on the seat and take a slow breath. I�
��m cornered, and there’s only one choice I can make.
Because whatever Bracken is doing, whatever Franks is doing, I have my own scores to settle. For me, and for Jackson. I need to survive, here – and for that, I need to keep my job, and Bracken needs to keep his.
Discipline, determination, backbone.
I stand up, carefully, and walk slowly back to my office. I sit down at my desk, and after a moment I pick up the phone.
“Corporal Smith here. I’d like to book the Enhanced Interrogation Suite and two interrogators for tomorrow morning. And please have Margaret Watson ready for questioning.”
There’s a smile on my face as I hang up the phone. This is my job. This is my responsibility. No blackmail. No intrigue. No secrets. Iron fists and steel toe caps.
This is a language I understand.
Member
BEX
“In at the deep end, Bex.” Gail stands next to me, outside the conference room door. “Are you ready for this?”
I nod, but my hands are shaking. I’m terrified. I clutch my notebook and pen to my chest and concentrate on breathing slowly.
Gail puts her hand on my shoulder. “This is a big deal, Bex. I’m really proud of you for taking this on.” She shakes her head. “I hope you can make a difference.”
I force myself to smile at her. “Me too. And thank you for asking Fiona.”
“No problem. All I have to do now is convince the Scottish government that this is part of your education. They’re keeping a very close eye on what we do with you, since Jake …”
I cut her off. I don’t want to think about Jake. “Thanks, Gail. I appreciate it.”
I need my tribe behind me today. They gave me a good luck card this morning – messages of support from Dan, Charlie, and Amy. I’ve pinned it to the board in my room, next to Saunders’ sketch.
This isn’t where I wanted to be, but it’s the best I can do while I’m stuck here. I’m doing this for Dan and Amy, for Charlie and Jake, for Mum, and Margie, and Dr Richards. I’m here to remind the committee that they might be safe, hiding in Edinburgh, but the people they represent face danger every day. I’m going to talk about Mum and Margie. I’m going to make sure they’ve seen the clips on PIN, and the trials, and the executions. I’m going to ask them how they would feel if it was their relatives on the screen. Their friends in the cells.
Fighting Back (Battle Ground YA UK Dystopia Series Book 4) Page 13
