‘Cyclops has the code for all the prisons,’ I said, smoothing the table with my open palms, not lifting my eyes from the surface as I spoke.
‘What?’ I could hear the already angry man getting angrier.
‘I need only say one word and all the doors will be open.’ I opened my hands in demonstration. ‘All the gates, in every prison in the country, will open – simultaneously.’ I looked up at him. ‘Do I need to explain to you what that means? What will happen?’
He was glaring at me, looking straight into my yellow eyes. I saw such loathing; it took my breath away. I wondered what it would be like to be in the power of such a man.
‘No,’ he growled.
‘The inmates won’t just be in control of the prisons; they’ll be in control of the streets.’
‘I said you didn’t need to explain!’ he snapped.
There was a long silence. ‘I don’t believe you’ll do it,’ he said. ‘Such a thing will not aid your so-called revolution. It’ll cause anarchy and bloodshed. You cannot mean to release murderers, rapists and God-knows-what onto our streets and the innocent public.’
‘Bràithreachas is not responsible for this,’ I said. ‘The state will be held accountable. If you agree to our terms it will not happen.’
‘We have never and will never negotiate with terrorists.’
I stood up, pulling my crutches to me. ‘Then prepare your troops. We will open the gates in two hours’ time. You have two hours to think about your choice of words.’
He remained seated, looking up at me, baffled.
‘You won’t be negotiating with terrorists,’ I said. ‘You’ll be negotiating with Bràithreachas, a legitimate organisation. Call us, if you like,’ I paused for effect, ‘a charity.’ My voice hardened. ‘Call us what you like, but I suggest you find a solution because if you don’t, history will label you as the General who played dangerous games with the lives of the innocent; the General who allowed the prisons to empty onto the streets of our cities.’ I moved away from the table. ‘You have two hours.’
Checkmate.
Chapter 94
2 April 2040, 6am
The streets were ablaze; looters rampaged through burning shops and houses. As they did so, police sirens wailed impotently in the distance. No one took any notice. Hundreds of dark figures moved hastily through the flaming buildings, carrying stolen loot in desperate hands. They were so intent in gathering their plunder, they failed to notice the threat descending down onto them.
From out of the rubble, two dozen large motorbikes came screaming towards them, moving up close, carrying crouching figures in black leather and dark helmets. The looters turned, saw the bikes come crashing down, squealed and dropped their load. Then they ran. The bikers gave chase. They could have gone faster, but they chose not to. That did not occur to the looters; they thought they were running for their lives. They ran through smoking ruins and burnt out wrecks. They dodged past abandoned cars and across roads strewn with rubbish. They ran and the bikers stayed close, never catching up, but never giving up either.
The looters moved swiftly across the city, thinking they were winning. They were not; they were being herded. They were being moved into a deserted industrial area. An old warehouse loomed up out of the night sky. The looters saw the building and made for it; bikers could not follow them in there.
They streamed into the warehouse from all directions; miraculously, the doors were wide open and seemed to welcome them in. They ran at full pelt into the deserted, dusty spaces of an industry long dead. People screamed to others to close the doors; frantic hands slammed them shut. The noise of doors crashing together reverberated across the building. There was silence as the looters finally stopped.
There were men and women, young and old, some as young as twelve, others as old as sixty. They paused for breath and to check that they were still alive. Some collapsed on the floor, some bent down gasping for breath. Others stood hands on hips, backs bent, staring up at the ceiling. They were the first to see that they were not alone. The warehouse was already occupied. Bràithreachas was waiting for them.
**********************
‘You can’t save everyone,’ said Conor.
‘But I could have saved that one.’
‘We need you here now. I’ve got nearly a hundred discards here and they all need help.’
Euan scowled. ‘I’m out to get some more, so make room.’ He stalked off.
Conor sighed and watched him go.
‘He walks as if he’s a failure after all he’s done tonight,’ said Marnie, one of his helpers.
He nodded. ‘It hurts, that’s all. When someone slips from your grasp and into death, it just hurts.’ He sighed again. ‘Okay, let’s get on. Who’s next?’
They moved down the large hall. It was crammed full of small beds, and next to each bed there was a chair and a cupboard. They had tried to create a small space for each person, a place of quiet and rest. Except it wasn’t really quiet; the place buzzed with activity.
We had nearly a hundred discards and some wounded soldiers of the Brotherhood in there. The place was a logistical nightmare and had stretched the Salvation Army to its limits. It seemed an eternity since Conor had sat in the safe house and I had outlined my plan to him. An eternity since he had been warned that this would be bigger than anything he had ever had to deal with before, and, since that eternity, he had acquired a hall full of the injured and traumatised. A kitchen stretched to full capacity in an effort to feed those people – a spiritual challenge for everybody involved.
He had back up, of course.
This was one area where our list of NF targets proved to be of greatest practical benefit because we were able to use it in such a direct way. We had the names of those people Fabian considered to be a threat. They were targets and, as such, potentially at risk of demotion, imprisonment or even death. The Brotherhood made it their business to ensure that those people understood the consequences of being placed on that list. We didn’t spare them. They were informed that they were targets and given details of what had already happened to others on the list.
The message was short and brutal, but honest. One of the places we were particularly interested in was the medical services. We not only informed and outlined the consequences but also requested their allegiance. In other words, we asked for their help in tending the sick and the wounded.
The response was far greater than I could possibly have imagined. I knew how many people on the list worked in the health services, but the numbers who turned up at our sanctuaries were far greater than that. I had underestimated the amount of bitterness and regret felt by people who had seen valued colleagues forced out of their jobs, their own careers damaged and the level of care offered diminished and undermined. It was not just the targets who came out to help; they had taken the trouble to persuade and inform others, and they had come too.
So when Conor walked through that busy, bustling hall, he saw professional medics working with the injured – medics from all fields of expertise – and it made all the difference to our survival rate.
I shall always be grateful.
**********************
2 April 2040, 7am
Figures came down from the ceiling on ropes. They were armed and ready. The looters stopped and stared. The figures moved in, herding the drifters into a large central area. There were probably some one hundred looters in total. Men and women you would walk past in the street, not give a second glance to; men and women who had been filled with rage and greed and had rampaged through a vulnerable city; men and women who either had no weapons or had chosen to drop them, along with the goods they had stolen. In contrast, the Brotherhood was fully armed and was now stealthily moving in, carrying guns. The guns were pointed directly at the gathered, murmuring looters.
Everyone seemed to hold their breath. Then, the silence was broken. ‘Dear God!’ whispered one woman. ‘Don’t kill us. I have a child. Dear God, please!’ She fe
ll down on her knees.
Still the Brotherhood moved in closer.
They knew they were Brotherhood. As they looked around them, they recognised the trap they had run into. They noticed, for the first time, the Matrix banners stretched across the walls, showing the clenched fists against the scarred body. The figures surrounding them were all wearing the full Matrix Bands. They were armed, dressed in black and their faces were covered. All that they could see were their eyes through slits in the hoods. They moved like the Brotherhood. They smelt like them and, just to remove any doubt, they announced themselves: ‘We are Bràithreachas. You owe us your allegiance.’
There was a moment’s silence. One hundred people stared at the figures with weapons. Then, the woman who had spoken before spoke again. ‘I believe in Matrix, please take my oath of loyalty,’ she said loudly and clearly. She thumped her chest with a clenched fist.
People around her jumped. Then they caught on. Soon, everyone there was down on their knees swearing their allegiance. Posters of Matrix were passed around. The new acolytes bent down and kissed the image.
And when all was done, they were told what to do – and they were told what the consequences would be if they betrayed the cause they had just sworn allegiance to. Nobody hesitated; nobody had any doubt. They had been without a leader or a cause; now, someone had given them both and they were on a mission.
**********************
2 April 2040, 8am
If the meeting between the Prime Minister and Harrison had been discreet, it was nothing compared to my meeting with the Leader of the Opposition, Mr Ward.
We met in a small, dark, derelict government building. I hated the place. I could feel that unforgivable things had taken place there in the interests of National Security. I could feel the memories of tortured souls. They called out to me for justice, but I knew it was already too late for them. They were gone and forgotten, just as the government had intended.
The building was not the only thing I hated; Mr Ward and I disliked each other immediately. He was a small man, running slightly to fat, despite being only in his late thirties. He had thin hair and wore round glasses. He had a mild-mannered face with eyes like dark bullets. He used those eyes on me now as he registered his disgust. He did not want to have to deal with me, but he knew he had no choice.
‘I’ve had a meeting with General Howard,’ he began.
I said nothing.
‘He will not fire on your people. He, like me, believes we need a settlement.’
Still, I said nothing. I didn’t tell him that I had already met General Howard and that I knew exactly what he thought. Instead, I simply passed across my list of terms; he glanced over it. ‘Agreed,’ he said. He spoke too quickly. I didn’t believe him and I didn’t trust him. But, like him, I had no choice.
‘Arrange a meeting with the Prime Minister,’ I said. ‘I’ll meet him with three of my Blood Brothers. You, as the Leader of the Opposition, will need to be present. I’m sure he’ll understand that.’ He nodded. He hated taking orders from me, yet still he nodded. ‘I want a senior member of the armed forces to work alongside us now,’ I said.
‘You want a hostage?’ he asked incredulously.
‘I want help. I want someone from the police and the armed services to be present with me at all times. I want justice, not a blood bath.’
He agreed, even though he didn’t believe me.
Chapter 95
2 April 2040, 9am
Matt Cooper was sitting down to a late breakfast at his comfortable residence in London. His house was situated in one of the most exclusive areas of the city. He didn’t expect to be bothered by the substrata revolution. He was wrong. Euan and four members of the Snare were already in his house.
Cooper picked up his cup of coffee and took a sip. He glanced across at his wife. She was naturally subservient to him. He had ensured that she should be. She never spoke unless she was sure it would please him and she had learnt never to complain. He could see that she was worried now: the news and the images on the screens concerned her, she feared for their children, for their safety. He could almost hear her cry out to him. We must run. We must run for our lives – for the sake of the children. The sure knowledge of her thoughts, etched all too clearly on her anxious face, made him angry.
Euan was moving in closer. His face and that of the Snare were hooded, only their eyes could be seen. They were dressed in black and they carried guns. They had already killed or captured to get this far. They moved silently and with speed; they were getting closer.
‘Your face is particularly unpleasant this morning,’ he said with a sneer. He placed his cup on the table in front of him. She suppressed a shudder. She had lived with this man for long enough to understand and read his most subtle moods. She always knew when she was in danger, when her children were in danger from his violence and aggression. She knew she had made him angry and that once started he would be difficult to stop.
Euan paused near the door of the dining room. He heard the murmur of voices within, but, more important, he heard the sound of footsteps moving closer. A servant was approaching carrying a tray. He hesitated. Standard Brotherhood practice was to capture rather than kill, especially if that person was substrata. But he knew that this was going to be difficult so close to the quarry. He pulled out his knife and prepared himself.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ she said.
Her voice immediately irritated him. ‘Why are you afraid?’ he demanded.
‘You’re an important man,’ she said. ‘You’re a member of the Inner Circle. Mr Harrison himself consults you. How can I not fear for your life?’
If she’d hoped to appease him, she failed.
He sneered his contempt. ‘You’re afraid for your own skin. Don’t even begin to deny it.’
She bowed her head. ‘That too,’ she said, ‘and for our children.’
The footsteps came closer. Euan moved into the shadow, still holding his knife before him. The servant came into view, carrying a large tray. He stopped and stared into the shadows. He could not see Euan, but he caught the glimpse of a blade. He held his breath; he knew his life was at risk.
‘I’m displeased with you, and you know what that means,’ said Cooper.
‘Please, sir ...’
‘I’ll allow you to choose your punishment. I’ll give you that much,’ he continued. He was satisfied to note that her face had grown pale. He kept three whips in the cupboard upstairs, each of different lengths and thicknesses. He always allowed her to choose which one he should use to administer her punishment. He told her it was because she should have the choice in such things; it was her right. In reality, the reason he did it was to prolong the terror.
The servant paused in the dim light of the hallway, still holding the tray close to his chest. He spoke quickly and in a whisper. ‘I believe in Matrix and the Brotherhood,’ he said.
Euan stepped out of the shadow, still holding the knife in front of him. ‘Prove it,’ he whispered back.
‘I am black, how can you doubt me?’
‘Not good enough. I’ve killed all races, colours and religions. You’ll be no exception.’
‘Then tell me what to do and it will be done.’
Euan considered for a moment.
‘Please, sir, this was not meant to be, in any way, a slight on you or your ability to protect me or our children ...’
‘Go to your room and make your choice.’
‘The mob frightens me.’
‘I do not expect to repeat my request.’
At that moment, the door opened and the white-gloved servant came in carrying a large tray with food and fresh coffee. He walked silently, across thick carpet, to the cupboard behind Cooper and quietly placed the tray onto it. Cooper hardly noticed him. He was watching his wife, waiting for her to do as she was told. She knew – and he knew – that any hesitation only increased the punishment.
The servant came up behind him. Cooper was about to speak
when he noticed a look of horror pass over his wife’s face. ‘Now what?’ he said impatiently.
He felt the cold feel of metal against his temple. ‘I have a gun pressed against your head, Mr Cooper,’ said the polite, white-gloved servant.
Euan moved into the room at that point, quickly followed by his Snare. He pressed a gun against Cooper’s wife’s head. ‘I am Azrael and, on behalf of Matrix, I am taking you under the protection of Bràithreachas,’ he said calmly. ‘You are our prisoner, and I will not hesitate to shoot your wife if you move.’
Cooper leapt to his feet. Euan released the trigger, just as he had promised.
**********************
The girl was cold, hungry and alone when she spotted the washing left hanging out in the garden. Stealthily, she crept in and, as she reached out to steal the clothes from the line, she heard the figures in black arrive. She had thought the rich man’s world would be safe, but they were everywhere. She needed those clothes; her own had been burnt by the fire in that house.
At first, she was convinced they had come looking for her, and then she realised she had just been unlucky. Desperately, she pulled the clothes on, running as she did so, back into the shadows. She stopped abruptly, leant against the wall and peered out from around the corner. It was early morning, and yet there were people about, people with guns. Slowly, she edged along the wall, always watching, always alert to the slightest sound, the slightest movement – anything that might betray the presence of the enemy.
She made her way out of the garden and back onto the street. She called it a street, but it was wider and more verdant than any street she had ever lived on. It was full of bushes and trees, and the houses were all spaced widely apart. The trees and bushes made perfect camouflage for her, in the light of the new day. It meant she was able, at last, to make rapid progress down the street and out to somewhere safe.
The Dream Catcher Diaries Page 52
