The Shadow of Treason

by Edward Taylor

  ‘This is the British Broadcasting Corporation in London,’ he said. ‘In place of the one o’clock news today, we are broadcasting an important message to the nation, from the Right Honourable Robert Westley, hitherto Minister of State for Internal Affairs.’ Then Barrett moved out of the chair and Westley took over. He tried to convey a mixture of strength and friendliness.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ he began. ‘I’m here to announce a radical change in the government of this country, which takes effect immediately and will concern us all.

  ‘I have to tell you that, as the war in Europe draws to a close, I and many others who believe in democracy have become aware of a plot by top members of the Churchill government to thwart the will of the British people.

  ‘They have been planning to expel from power all Labour and Liberal members of the coalition government, who have contributed so much to the war effort. They would replace them with right-wing extremists.

  ‘There would then be a snap election, rigged to install in power the most reactionary government this country has ever known. That government would increase the power of the wealthy classes, and prevent the reforms and moves towards social justice which this country so sorely needs: reforms which you and your fellow citizens have been promised, as you worked and fought to win this bitter war.

  ‘In the face of this threat to our democracy, it was necessary to take rapid and decisive action. My colleagues and I have therefore been working for many months on forming an alternative group to undertake the running of this country, and to implement the many changes you have all been hoping for. Our plans are now complete.

  ‘Accordingly, from 1 p.m. today, the Democratic Socialist Party of Great Britain has taken over the reins of government. As a senior minister, with four years’ experience of national affairs, I have accepted the post of president. And I have appointed many prominent parliamentary figures, whom you know and trust, to take important posts in my cabinet: among them are Ernest Cox, who takes over as prime minister, Gerald Collis, Charles Bell, Reginald Fox, and William Ford, who will serve as my vice president. Great Britain is now a republic. The former King and Queen, together with Winston Churchill and other leading members of the Tory Party, have been placed under house arrest.

  ‘Countries which have fought alongside us in our struggle against Nazi Germany are expected to welcome Britain’s change of regime. A message of congratulation has already been received from our greatest ally, Soviet Russia.

  ‘Most senior figures in the police and the armed forces endorse our actions: though some obstruction may be expected from reactionary elements. There may also be opposition from members of the upper classes, who see their unearned wealth and privilege threatened: as indeed they will be. Therefore, until everyone’s allegiance is clear, the decisions and policies of our new government will be enforced by volunteers from the Home Guard, that fine organization which has guarded our shores for the last five years. The large proportion of Home Guard soldiers who actively support our radical movement are wearing red armbands on the sleeves of their uniforms. These soldiers with red arm-bands will be known as The People’s Militia, and will be acting at all times with the authority of the state.

  ‘Since this change of government reflects the wishes and aspirations of the British people, it is hoped that the transition will be made peacefully and without bloodshed. Let us act together as brothers. However, it is important to remember that orders issued by The People’s Militia must be obeyed. And, for your security, a form of martial law has been put in place with immediate effect.

  ‘I look forward to working with all of you to build a new and fairer Britain.’

  Having finished his speech, Westley moved out of the chair, and Barrett slid in to deliver the tailpiece. ‘That was the president of the Democratic Republic of Great Britain, Robert Westley,’ he stated. ‘This station will broadcast news and instructions every hour. It is important that all citizens should go about their normal business in the usual way.’

  Alex Price turned off the microphone, and the soldiers in the studio applauded. Barrett rose and shook Westley’s hand. ‘Well done, sir. I think you made everything very clear.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Westley, and then he turned to the Home Guard leader. ‘And I thank you and your men, Major, for a very efficient operation.’

  Barrett added his congratulations. ‘I’d never have thought a big organization like the BBC could be taken over so easily.’

  ‘We had the benefit of inside information, from our young friend here,’ said the major. Price smirked. ‘Plus the advantage of being completely unexpected. There were only half a dozen commissionaires to deal with, and a couple of rather dozy security men. They didn’t give us much trouble.’

  ‘Let’s hope it’s being as easy as that for our other units.’

  ‘They’ll have met much stiffer resistance at military sites, of course,’ cautioned the major. ‘But they all had surprise on their side. They’re heavily armed, and each attack has been meticulously planned to the last detail.’ The major was in buoyant mood.

  ‘You did the midnight check-up, as planned?’ asked Westley.

  ‘Yes. Between 12 and 1 a.m. I spoke to every group leader in the country.’

  ‘And there were no hitches?’

  ‘Just one. Brigden, CO at Tilfleet, has disappeared.’

  ‘Brigden’s disappeared?’

  ‘He went on a mission to Southend and didn’t come back. They think he must have got caught up in the fire on Southend Pier.’

  ‘Unfortunate. He’s a key man, isn’t he? Or was.’

  ‘No one’s indispensable, sir. All our people work as a team. His number two has taken over. Sergeant Crowe, he’s a very good man – he won’t let us down. Rest assured, sir, all our units were fully prepared, and ready to strike at noon plus fifty minutes.’

  ‘Have you heard anything since?’

  ‘No, I ordered complete telephone and radio silence between 1 a.m. and 1 p.m., to prevent any last-minute leaks. Price told me the direct number for this studio, and I told all local commanders to ring here as soon as their job’s done. For the next few hours this is our national control centre.’

  ‘Thank you, Major,’ said Westley. ‘Well done.’

  Barrett addressed his president with some deference. ‘Presumably, sir, you’ll move into 10 Downing Street as soon as it’s taken over?’

  Westley was extremely positive. ‘Yes, certainly. That’s the vital location. Symbolic, plus a lot of good practical reasons.’

  ‘It shouldn’t be long,’ said the major. ‘I put one of our three crack units on that job.’

  ‘And the other two?’

  ‘One’s gone into the Home Office, the other the Ministry of Defence.’

  ‘Excellent. Fox and Collis will take up their duties as soon as we hear those buildings are clear. When do the street demonstrations start?’

  Barrett responded enthusiastically. ‘Any minute now. They’re planned for ten past one, as a spontaneous reaction to your broadcast.’

  ‘Good,’ said Westley. ‘They’re very important.’

  ‘They are indeed. Something we’ve learned from our Russian comrades. Our Intelligence people will have crowds of republicans celebrating in Whitehall and Portland Place, and in all major cities. Plus, of course, around Buckingham Palace. By the end of the day, the coup should be a fait accompli.’

  Amid all this exuberance, Westley was beginning to wish the phone would ring and bring some reassuring news. There was a hint of tension in his voice as he turned back to his military commander. ‘No doubt you’re ready to defend this building against any counter-attack by reactionary forces?’

  ‘Most certainly.’ The major exuded confidence. ‘I have fifty heavily armed men deployed around the ground floor, and guarding all entrances. And there are two trucks full of reinforcements, with mortars and tear gas, parked round the corner in Duchess Street. We’re totally secure here.’

  As he spok
e, there was thunderous noise and an explosion of activity, as twelve marine commandos came crashing in through the windows, boots first. They’d landed their helicopter on the roof and then abseiled down the face of the building. The News Studio’s soundproofing had kept their approach silent, but now all hell broke loose.

  The People’s Militia had no time to react as the commandos surged in, some hurling smoke-bombs as they came, others firing from the hip. By the time their feet hit the floor, they’d identified the danger men, the ones brandishing guns; and they’d put them all out of action before any of them could pull a trigger. Three of the red-band soldiers were dead, and the rest had dropped their weapons.

  As the smoke began to clear the studio door opened again, and in came the squad of uniformed police who’d been waiting in the rehearsal room down the corridor. They were led by the commissioner of police and alongside him was James Hoskins, his umbrella as immaculately furled as ever.

  The two men walked up to the little group by the microphone, and the commissioner spoke calmly. ‘Robert Charles Westley, I am arresting you on charges of high treason and conspiracy to commit murder. Anything you say will be taken down and may be used in evidence against you.’

  Westley, like all his men, had been stunned by events. But he’d recovered more quickly than most, and his voice was firm. ‘All I have to say to you, Commissioner, is this. Make the most of the next few minutes: because after that, you’re out of a job. Our forces are at this moment taking over Scotland Yard.’

  The commissioner smiled. ‘Are you sure about that, Mr Westley?’

  Major Fry intervened. ‘Don’t make trouble for yourself, Commissioner. Your lot are out of power. Any minute now you’ll see crowds in the streets, supporting the new regime!’

  ‘We’re a republic now!’ Barrett affirmed. ‘No more fascist police. In future the law will be in the hands of The People’s Militia.’

  The major was regaining his buoyancy. ‘The British public are with us. That broadcast will cause them to rise up and overthrow their masters!’

  Now Hoskins spoke for the first time. ‘I don’t think so, old chap. The thing is, none of the British public will have actually heard the broadcast.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ said Westley. ‘Fifty per cent of the British public switch on for the one o’clock news.’

  ‘And I’m sure they did today. They’ll have heard the normal news bulletin, coming from our Birmingham studios.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m afraid your little bit of nonsense went no further than the recording machine in the basement. The line from here to the transmitter was cut off at Droitwich.’

  Barrett turned on Alex Price. ‘I thought you said everything was working!’

  ‘Don’t blame him, old chap, he had no way of knowing. We thought we’d let you go ahead with your speech – the recording will be useful evidence at the trials.’

  Westley was now lost for words. But the major was not yet crushed. ‘Never mind the broadcast. The point is, The People’s Militia are at this moment taking control of all areas of power.’

  ‘Ah. Sorry. Wrong again. Five thousand members of the Home Guard, who were planning to take part in this insurrection, were arrested in their homes at dawn today. Well, four thousand, eight hundred and something, actually. Does the number ring a bell?’

  Although shaken, the major still managed a little more bluster. ‘I don’t believe it! We’ve heard nothing of this.’

  ‘That was our intention. We took trouble to ensure the news didn’t reach you and your little gang here. We thought it best if you went ahead in this one location. Let the poison out of the system. So we all know where we stand.’

  Fry now saw that his hopes were dashed. He would not be getting instant promotion to the rank of general, and the post of British army supremo. He fell as quiet as Westley and Barrett. For a brief moment there was silence after the turmoil. Then a resentful voice was heard from the sidelines.

  ‘You mean you let these bastards come here and crack my arm when you could have stopped them?’ protested Owen.

  ‘Sorry, dear boy,’ said Hoskins. ‘Can’t make omelettes without breaking eggs. You’ll get compensation, of course. Think of it as a war wound.’

  ‘I have first aiders with me,’ said the commissioner. ‘They’ll look after you till the ambulances arrive.’

  ‘Ambulances? I don’t need an ambulance!’

  ‘No, but these characters do.’ The commissioner indicated several of the red-band soldiers who were nursing wounds. ‘The Middlesex Hospital have four blood-wagons standing by.’ He turned to one of his aides. ‘Curtis, ring and tell them they’re needed now, to tidy up after Operation Mike.’

  As Curtis went to the phone, Hoskins spoke to the leader of the commandos. ‘Captain Cole, perhaps you and your chaps could go down and sort out the riff-raff who’ve taken over the ground floor here.’

  Cole snapped to attention. ‘With pleasure, sir.’

  ‘They’re a rabble, but they’re well armed. So be ready for anything.’

  Cole was reassuring. ‘With respect, sir, we always are. That lot shouldn’t detain us long.’

  Westley raised a hand to halt the proceedings. ‘Just a minute. No point in further bloodshed.’ The phone hadn’t rung, no supportive crowds had appeared outside. ‘It seems the Establishment have won again. No doubt this place has loudspeakers. I’ll tell our soldiers to lay down their arms.’

  ‘Very wise, Mr Westley,’ said Hoskins. ‘And humane. I’ll see it’s taken into account when you appear in court.’

  Westley sighed. ‘How did you know our plans? I suppose someone ratted on us.’

  ‘Not exactly,’ said Hoskins. ‘Let’s just say, a little bird told us.’

  12

  THERE WAS A clink as something solid was put down on Adam’s bedside cabinet. ‘A cup of tea,’ the nurse announced brightly.

  Adam opened his eyes wide enough to confirm that she had identified the object correctly. ‘Thanks,’ he said, and then he closed them again while he made up his mind whether or not to wake up properly. The tea was always piping hot, so he had a couple of minutes to think things over.

  He reviewed the last few days, which had been strangely calm and uneventful after all the preceding turbulence. Of the night he’d been involved in the pier affray, he remembered little that happened after Hoskins flicked the lights off. He’d felt a searing pain in his chest, and a blinding pain in his skull, as his head hit something on the way down. Then it had been blackness, punctuated by vivid impressions of flames and frantic activity. There was a vague memory of being bumped along on a stretcher beneath a bewildered moon.

  He’d first regained full consciousness in a hospital bed. Not the bed he was in now– this one was by a window. He’d been exhausted and in pain and attached to blood transfusion equipment. He’d instantly started worrying about Jane. There’d been a nurse in the room, and he’d managed to stay awake long enough to ask her if Mr Hoskins was all right. She’d seemed to know who he was talking about, and said he was. ‘Please ask him to tell my girlfriend I’m OK,’ he’d pleaded. And she’d replied, ‘I think that’s taken care of. But I’ll check.’

  Reassured, he’d switched off and slept for what seemed like a week, but was probably just ten or twelve hours.

  Next time Adam woke, it was because a doctor was pulling off dressings in order to inspect the wounds in his chest and back. The doctor had been relaxed and cheerful, telling Adam that he was a fortunate fellow. The bullet had passed right through the flesh without hitting anything vital. The pain as the dressings came off was like being shot all over again. The doctor had revealed that, as well as the bullet wound, Adam had suffered substantial concussion, a cracked rib, severe bruising, and slight damage to the kidney area. He would make a full recovery but he’d have to rest in bed for several days, until his wounds were seen to be healing. The varied injuries had made the doctor wonder if the young man had been in a brawl, as well as a gun
fight. But Adam had been too weary to explain.

  ‘I think I fell in with the wrong crowd,’ he said.

  The doctor smiled indulgently, and made no further enquiries. He applied new dressings as gently as he could, and said that Adam’s transfusion could now be terminated, and the line removed from his arm. Adam expressed his thanks, and then asked the doctor where he was.

  ‘The Middlesex Hospital,’ the doctor replied.

  ‘In London?’ Adam expressed surprise. ‘I thought I was in Southend.’

  ‘You were initially taken to Southend Hospital. But someone in authority intervened. A person called James Hoskins. He wanted you transferred here.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Adam.

  ‘I don’t know. I think he must like you. He’s got one of his men on guard outside your door.’

  That had brought a grunt from Adam. It was a reminder that he’d been wanted by the police. Was he still, he wondered? Why had nobody told him anything? He cleared his throat and said, ‘Has anyone been asking about me?’

  ‘Several people. They’ve all been told you’re OK, but you have to rest in hospital for a few days. A Miss Hart sent her love.’

  That was good news. ‘Can I have visitors?’ he asked.

  ‘Not until Mr Hoskins says so. I don’t know who this Mr Hoskins is, but it seems we all have to do as he tells us.’

  ‘I think he’s second-in-command to Winston Churchill,’ said Adam.

  ‘That’s certainly how it looks,’ said the doctor. ‘In fact, Winston had better watch out he doesn’t take over. That reminds me, I’m supposed to let Hoskins know as soon as you’re sitting up and taking notice.’

  ‘I notice they’re only putting one lump of sugar in my tea,’ complained Adam. ‘D’you think you could persuade them to manage two?’

  ‘Don’t you know there’s a war on?’ said the doctor, falling back on the nation’s favourite excuse. ‘Still, the nurse likes the look of you, so you may be in luck. And now I’d better ring Hoskins’ office.’

  ‘Will you please remind him he owes me a favour? And tell him I’d like to know what the hell’s going on.’