by Adrian Wills
'Bummer. You must be out of your mind with worry?'
There was an uncomfortable silence between them, which Lucy eventually found the need to interrupt. 'I'm sorry about the charity thing, I can't really afford - ' Lucy began to apologise.
'Hey, no worries. That's not important compared to this. The name's Rory.' He held out a hand by way of introduction.
'Lucy.'
Rory nodded to her bag. 'You want a hand with the rest of those?'
'No, really, it's okay,' she said, not really meaning it.
'Come on, it won't take half as long if we both do it. Here you go,' he made a grab for the roll of posters, and she didn't resist.
'Hey, Letitia,' he called to a woman dressed in a similarly bright jacket hovering around the entrance of the station. She wandered over and listened with interest to the story of Lucy's missing brother.
'Right, give me some of those,' she said, taking a clutch of posters. 'Have you got some tape?'
Lucy handed Letitia the roll, and watched as she fixed Nick's image to the side of a redundant red telephone box.
'This really is terribly kind.'
'Don't mention it. To be honest, it's a welcome break,' said Rory.
Within fifteen minutes, Nick's face had been plastered over most of the available surfaces immediately outside the station. In a couple of places, Letitia had even created a montage, putting the posters into a large rectangle, four across, and four high.
As Lucy stood back to watch Rory hang the last poster, she was overcome by the spontaneity of their help. For the first time in a long while she didn't feel alone, and with so many images of Nick's face now visible around the station, she felt certain it would only be a matter of time before he was found.
Chapter 40
The return journey to Sussex on the over ground train was far less stressful. The carriage Proctor found was a little more than half-full, with plenty of free seats. Blake sat four rows back, stretched out his legs, and lifted his face into the stream of cooled air pumped out from a vent over his head. He could have easily fallen asleep, allowing the gentle rocking to send him into a deep slumber as they picked up speed through the outskirts of the city and into the countryside. But he daren’t let his eyes slide closed, even for a second.
Twenty minutes into the trip, Proctor rose from his seat. He collected the sports bag from under his legs, and stumbled along the gangway. Blake pretended to be absorbed in the view from the window. He counted to ten and followed as Proctor walked the length of three carriages and ducked into an empty toilet cubicle. As he tried to close the door, Blake barged in and they fell clumsily into a tiny bathroom that was hardly big enough for them both. When Blake straightened up, he found himself nose-to-nose with Proctor.
'Hello, Ben,' he said, with a disarming grin, pulling the door closed.
'What the hell?'
'Sleep now.' Blake tapped him three times on the shoulder, and his eyelids fluttered shut. 'You're safe here. Nothing bad is going to happen. Relax and sleep deeply.'
Proctor's head rolled onto his chest, and Blake sat him on the toilet bowl.
'We don't have much time.' Blake made himself as comfortable as he could, perched on the edge of a small basin. 'I need to know what's in the bag.' The holdall had fallen to the floor, and Blake prodded it with his foot.
'My bag,' said Proctor, through a sleepy haze.
'I know, Ben. I need to take a look inside.' Blake bent over awkwardly and hooked it off the floor. He placed it on Proctor's lap and opened the zip. It was packed with ten rectangular blocks, like children's modelling clay, wrapped in clear plastic. He raised an eyebrow and held one of the blocks under Proctor's nose. 'Semtex?'
Proctor nodded wearily.
'Now what would you be wanting with Semtex, Ben?'
'For the ferry,' said Proctor, his voice devoid of emotion.
Blake blinked hard, unsure if he'd heard correctly. 'What ferry?'
'The one to France.'
'Where?'
'Dover.'
Blake sucked the air through his teeth. 'Who's idea was that?'
'Ken wants us to do it. He said it was time to act after the soldier was killed. We have to do something to make people realise our controls on foreigners are a joke.'
Blake carefully replaced the block of Semtex and closed the holdall. 'When did he give you the orders?'
'On the boat.'
'In Canary Wharf?'
Proctor nodded.
'You realise what he's asking you to do? If you go through with this, you'll kill hundreds of innocent British nationals. How does that help the BFA's cause?'
'Dover's the soft underbelly of immigration. Ken says we have to make the people understand before it's too late.'
'He's insane.'
The men were suddenly pitched into darkness, and the carriage shuddered violently. Proctor's limp body rolled to one side, and Blake braced himself against the walls as a change in air pressure pressed against his inner ear. The shadow of a train passing in the opposite direction flickered past the window, the rush of air and clatter of metal filling the bathroom with noise. And then it was gone.
Blake sat Proctor up straight. 'Tell me what happened on the Clara Barton, the boat in Canary Wharf.'
'Ken wanted us to meet him there.'
'Was anyone else on board?'
Proctor screwed up his face as if he was struggling to recall. 'An American.'
'Did you find out his name?'
'No.'
'Well, what did he look like?'
'He was big, I mean not tall but fat. With a bushy beard, and a weird accent, as if he was from the Deep South.'
'Larry Hopper,' said Blake.
Proctor didn't react to the name. He wasn't surprised. It was unlikely that Longhurst would have risked revealing Hopper's identity to his two henchmen.
They were interrupted by a loud rap on the door.
'Just a minute,' Blake called out. 'So what's the plan for getting the explosives on board the ferry?'
'We have to plant a bomb in a car and drive it on board. Martin Kelly told me how to pack the Semtex around the wheel arches and showed me how to set a timer.'
Blake caught his own reflection in the mirror above the sink, and noticed his gaunt expression. Too little sleep. Too much stress. He rubbed a hand over his face. 'You've done really well, Ben. One last thing. Do you have a date for the attack?'
Proctor shook his head. 'Ken will tell us when he's ready. We have to wait.'
'Wait for what?'
'I don't know.'
Chapter 41
'Heather, can you fix a meeting with the deputy director general. As soon as possible.'
'I'll see if he can fit you in later this week.'
'I mean right now,' said Harry Patterson. 'I'm on my way up there now. It's urgent.' He slammed the phone down, shut his laptop, and grabbed his jacket from the hanger on the back of his door. He took the stairs two at a time, pulling on his jacket as he went.
Twenty minutes later, he was sitting in the DDG's office in the strategically-placed chair in front of Sir Richard's desk.
'This had better be worth it, Patterson,' said Sir Richard, adjusting his cuffs. 'I've just walked out of a meeting with our French counterparts.'
'I've heard from Blake and I thought you'd want to know straightaway.'
'Go on.'
'He's found evidence of a credible plot being planned on British soil.'
'How credible?'
'They're planning to target a cross-Channel ferry. They've already acquired enough Semtex to blow open the bow, and now they're waiting on a date to strike.'
Sir Richard sat back in his chair and blew out his cheeks. 'Who's behind it?'
'The order's come specifically from Ken Longhurst.'
'It doesn't make sense. If they hit a ferry, they'll likely take hundreds of British lives. It would be a massive own goal.'
'Not if the Phineas Priests claim responsibility. Longhurs
t will condemn the attack, of course, but will use it to demand that the government tightens up border controls. No doubt, the home secretary will feel compelled to come out on the defensive, but Longhurst will be the one sympathetically whimpering about lost lives and the imperative to protect the rights of British citizens. You can see how this could propel him further forward in the opinion polls, while the Home Office is left squirming on the back foot.'
'Are you sure about this? It's a monstrous idea.'
'Blake's evidence is unequivocal, I'm afraid. But there's more. We believe the BFA and this plot in particular is being funded and co-ordinated with American finances.'
The DDG's eyes opened wide. 'Can this get any worse?'
'Longhurst has been holding meetings with Larry Hopper, the Texan oilman. It appears that he's co-ordinating the action and has approved the attack in the Channel. Our inside man was in the room when the order was given.'
'What's an American oilman doing getting involved with this sort of business?'
'He's suspected of co-ordinating similar attacks in the U.S. He's on the FBI watch list although no one's ever been able to pin any charges on him. This could be our chance to nail him.'
'We'd better alert the FBI,' said Sir Richard, reaching for the phone on his desk. 'Any idea of how long we have to stop them? If we can round them up and bring them in - '
'Sir, please don't make that call right now. Blake says the date's imminent, but they're waiting on the word from Longhurst. We need a little time to extract our man. We have to come up with a plan without blowing his cover.'
Sir Richard replaced the handset and took a moment to consider. 'I understand. But the moment you get the merest hint of a date for this thing I want to know. Is that clear? In the meantime, we'll put surveillance on Longhurst and Hopper.'
'Hopper's due to speak at the Oxford Union in a couple of days. Not exactly keeping a low profile.'
'The Union? Christ, they'll let anyone speak there these days. This is good work, Patterson.'
'Thank you, sir, but most of it's down to Blake.'
Chapter 42
Larry Hopper gripped the edges of a wooden lectern tightly, trying to ignore the beads of perspiration on his brow. He had already run the gauntlet of protesters gathered outside the Oxford Union, but had expected the reception inside the chamber to be warmer. He was disappointed that the students were treating him with what could at best be described as coldness and at worst downright hostility.
'We are a society that has lost its way,' he had begun, only briefly glancing at his notes. 'We have lost sight of our guiding principles, and that is why Christians are finding their voice again.'
The debating chamber was packed, but it wasn't the numbers that made him uncomfortable. He was used to large crowds, but in the States his speeches were usually greeted with an evangelical fervour. Here his words were being met with stony expressions.
He'd been asked to speak about the Christian Right, and the reason for the momentum it had gained in America, a subject in which Hopper was well versed, and a fine opportunity to spread the word to an audience across the Atlantic.
'Our nation's founding fathers built our laws and standards for American society based on the principles laid out in the pages of the Bible.' Hopper delivered his words slowly, taking long pauses for effect.
Although it was the first time he'd spoken outside America, he'd been delighted to accept the invitation to appear at the Union, the world's most prestigious debating society. Founded in 1823 as part of Oxford University, it had proved a unique training ground for many of Britain's politicians and prime ministers. Its regular debates dated back to the 1870s and have been held under the watchful eyes of former prime ministers Edward Heath and William Gladstone who are immortalised in stone busts in a red-walled hall off Cornmarket Street where audiences sat in rows of dark wooden benches finished with plush red leather.
International names from politics, religion, science, sport, and even Hollywood have been invited to speak, often to great media fanfare. Former American presidents Richard Nixon, Jimmy Carter, and Ronald Reagan, actors Johnny Depp and Clint Eastwood, footballer Diego Maradona and even popstar Michael Jackson had all spoken at the Union. And it was with the weight of this knowledge that Hopper spoke with the gravitas he believed his subject deserved.
'The U.S. has developed into the most powerful country in the world - a utopia of democracy and high living standards that has become the envy of the world. But the dreadful attacks perpetrated on American soil on nine-eleven opened our eyes and made us see that all was not well, that there were individuals willing to take the most extreme actions to destroy our way of life, to crush our ideals and beliefs - the ideals and beliefs that have made America great. It taught many ordinary Americans, the good folk who live their lives abiding by the law of God that things had changed under their very noses. We recognised that Liberal leftism had opened a door that allowed the enemy to walk right into our living rooms.'
As the Texan's voice boomed and echoed around the hall, he surveyed his audience, observing the hundreds of pairs of eyes staring back at him.
'Franklin D Roosevelt once famously said that the only thing we have to fear, is fear itself. But we had become paralysed by fear - the fear of admitting that we were Christians and proud of it. But let me say again that our great country was founded on the Bible - the Bible that built America. And you, the future leaders and opinion makers of England and Britain, with whom we have such strong bonds, should sit up and take note because I see the same attacks that I've witnessed on America's foundations happening here.'
Hopper paused, trying to evoke a sense of drama. But the eyes in the room looked back at him only with scepticism. The Texan took a spotted handkerchief from his trouser pocket and mopped his brow.
'In your very own country, I have read stories of good, decent Christians who have been banned from wearing their crosses - the ultimate sign of goodness. In what sort of world can that be right? And yet this is a country where Muslim teachers are allowed to be covered from head to foot with not even their faces visible. Why? Because Liberal politics tells you that you can't stand up for what you believe in - that in a free society it's simply wrong to allow women to be subjugated, no matter what their beliefs might be in their own societies. If they want to live in a free democracy they must fall into line with a free democracy's beliefs.'
At the precise moment, as Hopper began to get into his stride, he sensed the audience bristle. There were mutterings among small groups towards the back of the hall, but he pressed on.
'The Bible is the cornerstone of our society, our Christian principles, and our very way of life. It shouldn't be threatened as it has been. Without the principles of the Bible, who is going to defend the rights of the unborn child against the murdering abortionists?' Hopper slammed his palm on the lectern, but it failed to drown out the sound of a collective drawing in of breath. To his left, the chairman of the Union was looking decidedly awkward.
'And who is going to protect the sanctity of marriage? We, in the Western World, are a multicultural society built on many different colours, and we welcome everyone with open arms.' Hopper's eyes fell on a young Asian woman in a hijab. She looked at him with daggers, and Hopper quickly glanced away to check his notes.
'But we as Christians say that if you come to live with us you must live by our laws, by our standards, by our principles without favour or prejudice! And those governing principles are sacrosanct. We will not tolerate abortion. Every child from the moment of creation is a gift from God, and only God's will has the power to take that child from this earth. Marriage between a man and a woman is at the heart of a decent family, and we contest the only institution fit for raising our children. We absolutely reject gay marriage as an abomination.'
From somewhere near the back of the room, an unseen figure began to heckle. 'Nazi! Get off!'
Hopper pressed on. 'And it starts by bringing our educational system back
under our control. Children should be taught a Christian curriculum, and books with anti-biblical language banned.'
'You're no better than Hitler!' another voice piped up, receiving a few muted expressions of support.
'Without God, there is no right and no wrong,' Hopper tried to continue, but more and more voices began shouting out. Hopper stood resolutely, his chest pumped out.
'Racist!'
'Bigot!'
The chairman rose to his feet to plead for calm, urging the students to allow Hopper to continue, but the insults continued to be hurled. Then a few disgusted individuals stood and walked out.
'Please, calm down. Show some respect for our guest!' the chairman shouted, but his voice was drowned out by a slow handclap, which had started to the right of Hopper and spread through the hall, gaining volume and resonance as it went. For a few seconds, the oilman stood rooted to the spot, unsure how to react. The chairman gave him an apologetic look, but the situation was rapidly getting out of control.
'Out! Out! Out!' a chant rose above the hand clapping.
Two thick-set minders took that as their cue to intervene and marched in to usher Hopper out. And as he reached the exit, a loud cheer rose up.
Hopper was whisked out of a rear entrance, surrounded by his security men, to where a black people carrier was waiting with its engine already running. Hopper collapsed into the back seat next to Ken Longhurst.
'Well, that didn't go so well,' said Hopper, as the door slammed shut and the car pulled away.
The driver had no choice but to take them through the group of protesters who were still gathered at the front of the building. Although they couldn't see Hopper and Longhurst in the back seats through the one-way glass, word had already spread that the speech had been abandoned and that Hopper had fled. They knew it was his car and as it slowed to give way to traffic, they surrounded it, banging on the roof and windows. Snarling faces pressed up against the window, their eyes full of anger and hatred.
'Get us out of here, driver,' Hopper demanded, and the car sped off into the night.
Chapter 43
A grainy image appeared on a flat-screen television on a wall at the end of a darkened room. Six pairs of eyes watched as the camera moved unsteadily like a poorly shot home movie.
'Are you picking this up?' Blake's voice hissed through the speakers.
