by Carl Andrew
“Ok, ok, please leave me alone,” he said in desperation knowing full well that this attack would stop only when his two adversaries wanted it to. This thought petrified him and he felt absolutely helpless.
“Hello, is anybody there, are you ok?” came a female voice from the direction of the main pathway, the most unexpected of saviours.
The two thugs were startled by this and looked at each other considering their next move.
“Remember, we know where you fuckin’ live. This is your only warning,” whispered the lead thug with threatening menace before they left Leon, and hurried off in the direction of the lake.
“Please help me,” Leon called out to the woman.
“I’ve… I’ve been attacked.”
No more than five seconds later a young woman in her mid-twenties appeared through the barricade of tree branches and held her hand to her mouth with horror at the sight of Leon.
“Oh my god, are you ok? I heard some kind of noise and thought you were ill. I didn’t realise you were in trouble. I’ll call an ambulance. Just.. just don’t move ok,” she said reaching for her phone and punching in the numbers as she spoke.
What followed was a blur as the ambulance collected Leon and drove him, at pace, to The Whittington Hospital where he was sedated and treated in A&E.
He spent the night in hospital for observation, filed a pointless police report at his bedside, certain that nothing would come of it and left the next morning after being diagnosed with a fractured eye socket and severe bruising to several of his ribs.
As he made his way out of the entrance, passed the depressing sight of smokers providing themselves a reason for another visit to the hospital, he was genuinely scared after his experience and seriously contemplated whether what he was doing was worth it.
The journey home was mainly spent looking over his shoulder and either side of him suspecting everyone and trusting nothing. He was seriously shaken and continually asked himself the questions, where do I go from here? What do I do now?
Three quarters of an hour later and quivering with fear, he found himself at his front door. Slipping the key into the lock he let himself in.
Leon stood in his living room unsure what to do next. He kept thinking: Who were they? Why did they want me to stop writing? What did I write about that concerned them? He thought of his recent blog posts as he considered everything.
The reality of his fear was mostly laid at the feet of uncertainty. He was struggling to understand how the pieces fitted together. For someone with such a curious mind, not being able to put two and two together to uncover a plausible explanation was frustrating to the point of almost mental torture.
He thought back to other recent and curious incidents that had preceded this attack; the emailed video showing the attack on the old lady, the stone thrown through his window from the person driving an SO1 car; the unsolicited tip offs about breaking Government news; the police informant and now the attack. He couldn’t help feeling that something somewhere was connected.
After an hour tormenting himself with no respite, he gave up trying and picked up the phone, scanned through his call log and pressed to call.
The phone rang twice and then the ring tone was replaced by a click of activity.
“Ally, its Leon… I’m going to come and visit. Do you think it would be ok for me to stay for a while?”
His brother answered with a whimsical tone: “Wow, two visits in as many months. You must be running out of money.”
“Look if it’s going to be a problem I’ll go somewhere else ok,” snapped Leon, already conscious he’d revealed more about his state of mind in that single act than he’d intended.
“Woah, settle down Leon. I was only joking. Of course you can stay for as long as you want. You know that. Are… are you ok?” Ally was concerned about his little brother. Usually so carefree and relaxed to the point of falling over, the Leon on the other end of the phone was stressed and ill tempered.
Leon paused toying with the right words to use in order to formulate a response.
“What’s going on Leon? Talk to me,” Ally pressed his brother.
“I’ll explain when I get there. I’ll be in Bolton around 4pm. Are you ok to collect me?”
“Yes, of course. That’s no problem. Listen Leon, if you’re in any kind of trouble you know I’ll help however I can right,” Ally said with almost a paternal air.
“We’ll chat when I get there and… and thanks Ally,” Leon responded feeling much more reassured.
“Sure, anytime mate. See you later ok.” Ally heard the dial tone as Leon disconnected the call. He stood there motionless holding the phone just away from his ear confused and concerned by the conversation he’d just had.
Leon packed his laptop, charger, a bag of clothes along with toiletries and headed for his front door.
As he pulled open the wooden barrier to the outside world, he stopped and swung round to survey his apartment, unsure when or if he would return.
He was still nervously watching around him for any signs of people following him as he made his way to Finsbury Park tube station, the same walk he had taken the previous day before he was attacked.
When he got there safe and sound, through the barriers and on to the first available train, he allowed himself to take a deep breath of relief.
The tube journey was short but, for some reason, Leon always felt the motion of the train inherently comforting. Before long he had arrived at Euston Station, purchased his ticket and made his way to his haven – his exit point, all the while checking his surroundings to see if there were any concerning shadows.
He walked to the far end of the platform away from the bulk of people and waited patiently for the train to come. When it finally arrived another sharp intake of breath signalled a secondary port of relief. He settled into a seat scanning everything as the other passengers made their way on to the train.
He was still feeling uneasy and wondered how long it would take to shake this sense of wariness.
The journey to Bolton was, fortunately, uneventful. He spent most of the time staring out of the window lost in his thoughts, still trying to come to terms with what had happened.
It didn’t help that he was visibly battered and bruised so his journey from house to train was littered with curious looks as bystanders made up their own back story about what had happened to him.
These expressions of uncertainty followed him right up to the point where Ally waved him over with a smile that quickly turned into a look of horror.
“What the hell happened to you Leon? Are… are you in some kind of trouble?”
“I was attacked, yesterday in Finsbury Park by two thugs,” Leon said trying to pacify his emotions as he spoke.
“Who did this? Why you? What did they want? Did they say anything?” Ally enquired, firing questions like bullets from a machine gun.
“They warned me to stop writing. It was two thugs. I’ve never seen them before and I only got a brief glimpse. I doubt I’d recognise them again. They told me not to write about the street violence again,”
Leon responded before explaining the rest of the attack, the threats they made and his stay in hospital.
“So you’re going to stop right?” Ally enquired already knowing the defiant character of his brother but hoping that common sense would prevail.
“Ally, I’ve spent the last three years of my life building this blog into something meaningful.”
“Something that people can rely on to provide independent reporting on the Government of the day and issues that are really impacting this country,” Leon was impassioned now, speaking as if reciting a decision that he was unaware until now he had actually made in his sub-conscious.
“I can’t stop now. I won’t stop now.”
“So what are you going to do? You can’t go back to London now on your own,” Ally stated the obvious with genuine concern for his brother.
“I know, I know. I need to give it a bit
of time to let everything die down but I’m not going to let them frighten me into not reporting on what’s happening. I’m going to stay here for a few weeks, lie low and carry on writing from here,” Leon said.
“Listen, we can’t let mum and dad know about this, please promise me Ally,” requested Leon.
“Sure, of course. They’d only worry. But… but how are you going to explain this,” Ally gesticulated to Leon’s visible injuries.
“I’ll tell them I fell down, I had an accident and fell down some stairs at…. at,” Leon said trying to think of a plausible explanation. “…the tube station. Yeah, that’s what I’ll tell them.”
“Alright, I’ll back you up Leon but get ready for the Spanish inquisition when we get home. You know what they’re like.”
“I know, I know. I’ll sort it and… and thanks Ally. For everything,” Leon concluded as he got into the car.
Chapter 10:
Mid-November - Huntingdon, Cambridgeshire
Sarah sipped her tea. The last day or so had been strange but up-lifting. She finally felt a sense of belonging.
Allowing herself a brief visit to the reality of her life, she began looking online for part time jobs and had applied for the daily quota she set herself before taking a glance at other more social pursuits.
The elderly couple next door still hadn’t figured out that their wireless internet service was also providing for Sarah and her housemates. They were making hay while the sun shined.
She checked her profile on ‘Unity’ and spotted she had a message from Sebastian. Since her involvement in the attack on the research facility her star had risen in activist-land and she was receiving more communication than ever before.
Clicking on the message she waited with anticipation as the content appeared.
You did well so we’ve got another project for you. You in?
Sarah stared at the screen, saw Sebastian was currently online and thought for a second before typing her response.
Yep, I’m in. What’s the deal?
She waited as the message icon blinked in an almost hypnotic fashion.
Meet me at the usual place at 6pm. I’ll give you the details then.
She felt a surge of excitement as she considered her next venture into the world of anarchy. She almost wished away the time and checked her watch continually, disappointed each time that only twenty minutes or so had passed since the last check.
When the small hand finally rested on five and the big hand indicated she had 30 minutes until the meet, she started getting ready.
It was a short ten minute stroll to her destination, a pub called The Queen’s Head on the High Street.
She walked in and, being attractive and female, collected a number of admiring glances.
Scanning the room, she found Sebastian and made her way over. Disappointment was visibly etched on a number of faces upon the realisation that she was seeking out another guy.
“Hey, how’s it going?” Sebastian said, greeting Sarah with a smile.
“Good… great. How are you?”
“Hungry for sending another message out to the bloody scientists, we’re making this one personal and hitting the home of a real big shot in the world of animal cruelty. No names for this one. We need to ensure you’re involved but not too involved if you get my drift.”
“I think so. If you’re worried we’ll get caught and I’ll know too much and spill to the police then don’t. I know how to keep my mouth shut.”
“I’m sure you do but it’s just a precaution.”
“How will I know where to go?”
“I’ll give you the address. We’ll have a couple of drinks in here and then head off separately. Some others will meet us at the place. It’s best we make our own way there. Not exactly discreet, having a crowd wandering around a residential area at night so we’ll access the place individually. You ok with that?”
“Yeah... yeah... sure. No problem. Whatever works?”
They carried on drinking and the conversation moved on to a more awkward discussion of everyday matters including job hunting, the weather and such like.
After an hour or so, it was time to leave and they both made their way out of the pub trying to look as normal and uninteresting as they could.
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BBC Studios, London
It was the day of the interview. Jennifer Hopwood was shown to a waiting area set out like a lounge with two large couches against both the back wall and adjacent wall opposite a table stocked with fruit, snacks and drinks.
“Help yourself to refreshments. I’ll be back around five to,” said a nice young gentleman, glancing at his watch as he spoke.
“Thanks. So I’ll just wait here then,” Jennifer responded to no one, in essence, as the man was already leaving the room and had his back turned to her when her words came out. He was already locked onto his next task.
She was appearing on BBC’s Newsnight to discuss her research and answer questions about the controversy surrounding it. She was never afraid to answer questions about the work she did as she believed each interview provided her the opportunity to convert peoples’ thinking enabling them to understand her research better.
Picking up a bottle of mineral water and a rather limp chicken sandwich, she made her way over to the couch on the furthest wall facing the entrance to the room. She liked to be in a position where she could claim absolute visibility of her surroundings.
She had spent the day rifling through her research to pick out the most relevant data to use as proof points for her responses. She always ensured she was absolutely prepared for any questions she would likely be asked.
As she waited in, what had become in her mind, the holding cell, she pulled out her notes and went through them again.
When she revised as much as she could bring herself to and was at the point where she could almost recite her notes word for word, she allowed her mind to turn to other things.
Jennifer realised that she hadn’t really had any time to collect her thoughts over the last couple of weeks. It had been a bit of a rollercoaster ride and had changed her future direction to such a significant extent but she hadn’t allowed herself to take stock and consider everything that had happened.
She began to feel herself contemplate the previous fortnight. There had been the attack at the facility.
She was a veteran of so many previous attacks they were almost par for the course in her line of work but she couldn’t shake off an uneasy feeling that this one was somewhat different. It was a nagging feeling and something she knew she’d have no answer for.
Her mind drifted to the numerous engagements she’d had with Vanessa Lim and Russell Brooks. It was almost inconceivable that a couple of weeks ago she was an independent scientific researcher making real inroads into understanding the triggers of animal behaviour and now here she was on the verge of working for the Government… often seen as the enemy in her circles.
How could all of this happen in such a short space of time? She thought to herself.
It annoyed her that she was actually a little excited about the prospect of setting up of the new Institute. The last few days she had spent working through plans and requirements in preparation for the next step on this bizarre journey.
Almost in a trance while lost in her thoughts, she jumped with surprise when a familiar voice broke her concentration:
“We’re ready for you now Dr Hopwood,” the runner said to her.
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Brampton, Cambridgeshire
Sarah was getting close to the destination. At the pub she had been handed a note with an address and hadn’t dared look at it until she was safely away from the gaze of the public. What she saw contained on the piece of paper startled her.
She carried on walking down the road, pulled the piece of paper out of her pocket and unfolded it to check it again. Part of her was anticipating seeing another a
ddress written on the note confirming that she’d misread it previously but no, it was still the same.
The other part of her was happy that the target was what it was.
As she made her way discretely towards the house, befriending the shadows provided by the tall trees with each step, she couldn’t believe she found herself at this place. She knew the house on Horseshoe Way in Brampton well.
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BBC Studios, London
Jennifer was led through the back of the dimly lit studio lightly stepping over wires as she went. The walk took what felt like an age and, although she didn’t necessarily feel nervous, a familiar rumbling started in her stomach.
A left, another left and then through a door brought her to the final destination. The studio itself was much smaller than she’d anticipated. Her thoughts turned to admiration for the camera trickery employed to make things appear more grandiose on television than in reality.
She acknowledged the host, an old adversary from previous interviews when he was a print journalist, and sat down before pouring herself a glass of water.
“Ok, so we’ll start by showing a couple of videos and then I’ll jump into the questions. That ok?” said the host.
“Yes, all ok with me. No problem,” Jennifer responded.
“Great.”
A voice from across the studio declared: “Ok people, ready in five, four, three…” the count went silent with hand signals counting down the remaining two numbers… and then… and then they were on air… live television.
The video played showing an array of provocative images of animals being tested on followed by activist attacks on science facilities, all fairly predictable as far as Jennifer was concerned.
The video faded to black and the host drew breath.
“Good evening and welcome to Newsnight.” The host addressed the camera in front of him.
