Nothing left to lose

by Stuart Allison

  Once again I was beaten and I knew it.

  ‘Just to ensure that you stay honest Mr West, I will be taking a little insurance.’ He pulled a squat, bulky semiautomatic pistol from his jacket pocket. I recognised it from US television shows, it was a 9mm Glock. That would give him something like seventeen bullets at his disposal. One would be enough.

  ‘Aren’t you taking a risk carrying that? It’d ruin your image as a respectable politician, if you were found in the possession of a firearm.’

  ‘The benefits of public life, no policeman would think to stop and search me. Karl, yes; but me….not likely. So I’ll take the risk. Wait for me in the car please West, I would like a word with Nick.’

  I was escorted outside by Karl, past the open window of the lounge towards the BMW. As I stood by the car waiting, snatches of conversation drifted from the window.

  ‘…….When you locate…..Mann, deal with the problem.’

  ‘…..West girl?’

  ‘Do as you please…..let your boys…..good time….deserve a reward but wait for my instructions…after I deal with West’

  ‘The bastards!’ I thought, ‘They’re still going after the girls!’ I was on his hit list too, but I did not matter, I put little value on my life, after all what did I have to live for? My mind raced, there had to be some way I could save the girls from the depredations of these animals. But if there was I could not think of it.

  I got into the driving seat. I thought of driving away and going to the police, but they’d never believe me, besides the keys were not in the ignition. I adjusted the mirror and waited for Sinclair to join me. Sinclair tossed me the keys as he got in to the passenger seat.

  ‘Turn left out of here, then take the lane for a mile.’

  I drove as instructed, the BMW bouncing uncomfortably and making the seatbelt pull painfully against my injured ribs. Following Sinclair’s directions we reversed the journey that had taken me to the farmhouse.

  ‘Are you prepared to tell me where the journal is now?’

  ‘What, while you hold a gun on me?’

  ‘The gun’s in my pocket. I hope you will co-operate and it will not be needed.’

  ‘But the threat’s still there.’

  ‘Certainly it is. I am too close to achieving my political dream to allow anything to stand in my way. The latest opinion polls suggest that we could even finish second in the election, surpassing even my highest expectations. No-one will be able to form a government without our support. We will be in a position to force the other parties to adopt key areas of our policies.’

  ‘You can forget the party political broadcast, I’m not voting for you. No-one else would either, if they saw the man behind the image and knew his true agenda.’

  ‘But you cannot deny that I have taken a minority party and brought it into the main stream of politics. I have attracted voters to right-wing ideologies in a way that no-one has since Mosley, and possibly even surpassing him. This country has been a slumbering giant for giant for too long. We have allowed our culture and achievements to be derided and despised. Once I have power, we will rebuild; the alien cultures that have pushed out true British values will be marginalised. It will all change once only true Britons will have full citizenship.’

  ‘Your very own Nuremburg Race Laws. When do you ban marriage between Britons and other races to preserve the purity of the bloodline?’

  ‘I will not bandy words with you. My dream for a British Britain will become reality, despite the cynicism of left-wing, liberal intellectuals like you!’

  All the time Sinclair had been ranting on, I had been trying to think of a way out of my predicament. As we pulled along the slip road on to the dual carriageway it came to me. It was the ideal answer for someone who had nothing to lose.

  Within a few minutes, I saw ahead a familiar bend in the road; I knew what was on the other side. I pressed down on the accelerator and the car’s speed began to increase. My palms on the wheel began to sweat and then the shakes set in.

  ‘Slow down!’ Sinclair instructed. I pressed the accelerator down harder; the speedometer crept up to eighty five miles per hour.

  ‘I said slow down!’ He repeated starting to pull the gun from his pocket.

  ‘Forget it! You can’t shoot me, unless you want an accident at this speed. You made one big mistake...’ All the time I was straining my eyes searching for the final piece of my plan. Then I saw it. ‘I heard your orders about Lucy and Lisa; it’s not going to happen. You miscalculated, you forgot one key point, you should never take on a man who has lost everything, because he has nothing left to lose. You underestimated me, and that makes me a dangerous opponent Sinclair!’

  With that I jerked the wheel to the left. As the car veered off the road straight towards the tree that stood outside the estate offices, everything went into slow motion. I will never know whether it was the adrenaline that flooded my system, or it was the fear, or simply that was my mind was racing, but everything around me slowed to a crawl. Pressing the accelerator to the floor, it would only be a matter of seconds before I wiped myself out and took Sinclair with me.

  Over the roar of the engine I heard a terrified scream from the seat beside me as Sinclair finally understood my intention. The tree was only yards away. With a thump, the front wheels of the BMW mounted the grass verge. With only seconds to impact, images flashed through my brain. It was not, as is popularly claimed, my life flashing before my eyes, but images of Rob as a baby, Rob as a young man with his winning smile, Lucy as a scary two year old and the attractive intelligent woman she had grown into and finally Lisa, always Lisa, the young woman who had gone from being an ex-student to my closest friend. I didn’t want to die. I had things to live for, I had people to live for, I hadn’t appreciated that until it was too late, or was it? My right hand wrenched the steering wheel to the right, whilst I groped between the seats with my left. Where was it? With the nearside headlight just feet away from impact with the tree, my searching fingers found it; the seatbelt release. The nearside wing of the BMW collided with the tree and Sinclair’s belt broke free. One second he was there, arms thrown up in front of his face screaming and then he was gone, snatched away by an unseen hand. I just had time to see him disappear, before the airbag exploded in my face, blotting out everything. There was the scream of twisting, tortured metal and I felt the car spin like a Catherine wheel as the rear of the BMW swung out to my right, then the car began to roll. I recall being buffeted by the side airbag deploying and then everything dissolved into darkness.

  Chapter 35

  A dim light interrupted the darkness; I struggled to open my eyes and emerged into the dazzling light of a hospital ward. I felt as if I had been run through a threshing machine. My face felt tight and sore and my head felt like someone was playing football with my brain. Breathing hurt, my ribs felt like a red hot iron was being run through my chest. My left leg was stiff and immobile. I felt grim, but I was alive. As I forced my eyes open, I saw a distraught Jane sitting beside my bed.

  ‘Ian? Oh thank God!’ She pushed the button that brought nurses running to my bed. A doctor was summoned and examined me, asking a whole series of questions that varied between the banal, “What year is it?” to ones that I could not answer.

  ‘You’re a lucky man, Mr West, you have some cracked ribs from the seatbelt, some contact burns on your face from the airbag, a dislocated left knee and a slight concussion. From the paramedics description of the car you got off lightly.’ He ordered painkillers for my ribs and head then left the nurses to dispense them. When we were alone again, Jane bombarded me with questions.

  ‘Ian, what were you doing driving Richard Sinclair? Are you all right? I’ve tried to phone Lucy, but she’s not at her flat.’

  ‘One thing at a time,’ I groaned. ‘My head is thumping so badly I can hardly think. What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’m still your wife, Ian. Despite everything I still love you. I wouldn’t ever want anything to happen to
you.’ She hesitated, then continued ‘Ian…..I’ve got to ask….you didn’t….’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do it deliberately?’

  ‘Of course I did.’

  ‘Oh Ian, have I really reduced you to the state where you not only try to commit suicide, but kill someone else in the process. I never thought you could be so selfish.’

  ‘Sinclair’s dead?’

  ‘Yes, he was dead when the police arrived; he was thrown right through the windscreen out of the car and must have died instantly. Why are you smiling?’

  ‘Because it worked; I saved Lucy and Lisa and even managed to survive myself.’ I thought, but said nothing.

  We were disturbed by a uniformed policeman, who wanted to take a statement about the accident. I told him that Sinclair had been holding me at gunpoint, forcing me to drive his car and I had lost control, because he was making me speed. He looked sceptical, but wrote down my statement nevertheless and left mumbling about a further CID interview later.

  ‘Ian, what did you mean about it being deliberate? You just told the police it was an accident.’

  ‘Because he was threatening Lucy and Lisa with rape or worse at the hands of his thugs and because I don’t fancy a prison term for manslaughter.’

  ‘But why was Richard Sinclair threatening you?’

  ‘It’s a long story and the drugs are making me too drowsy to tell it now. You can get hold of Lucy at her boyfriend’s parents’ place in Spain. Tell her it’s safe to come home and ask her to pass on the same message to Lisa.’

  ‘I might have known that Mann girl would be behind this somewhere.’

  ‘Look Jane, I appreciate you being here for me, but you gave up any rights you had over my actions when you walked out on me. Please pass on the message to Lucy. I’m too spaced out to tell the full story now, but I promise I’ll give you the full picture tomorrow. I just need to sleep now.’

  ‘Okay Ian, you’re right, I have no right to criticise, I’ll make the call to Lucy, but I want the full story in the morning.’

  She left and I fell into a drug fuelled sleep that saw me through the rest of the day and the succeeding night, only punctuated by the occasional topping up of the painkillers from the night staff.

  The following morning, Jane appeared by my bedside shortly after breakfast.

  ‘I phoned Lucy as you asked, now keep your side of the bargain.’

  ‘Okay, here goes, you have to accept that this seems pretty far-fetched…’

  Before I could launch into the story, we were interrupted by a tall, balding man in a suit. His saturnine features made unlikely that he was a doctor.

  ‘Mr West?’ I nodded in reply. ‘Chief Inspector Warren.’ He flourished a warrant card. ‘I read the statement you gave to the uniformed officer last night and I have a few points I’d like to clear up. Perhaps we could have a few moments…ah… in private?’ He said looking pointedly at Jane.

  ‘This is my wife, she stays; she needs to hear the whole story as you obviously do too.’

  He glanced around at the empty beds on either side of me; the only inhabitant of the bay was a young man, the victim of a motorcycle accident, who had yet to regain consciousness.

  ‘Alright, your wife can stay, but this interview stays strictly confidential, until I indicate otherwise. Agreed?’ Both Jane and I nodded our consent.

  I ran through the whole story, starting with Lisa’s discovery of the Self diary, through the story of William Miller and then his links to Richard Sinclair. I explained how this could all be supported by Lisa, Father Charlie and the documentary record. Finally I concluded the story with my abduction at the hands of Storm45. The only thing I left out was the deliberate nature of the crash, though I could see from the look in Jane’s eyes that it all made sense to her now.

  ‘You really expect people to believe this Mr West?’ asked Warren.

  ‘With the exception of the last part about the abduction, it’s all provable and I can provide corroboration. I told you the story was far-fetched…’

  Well, as it so happens, I do believe you Mr West. Let me explain, I’m not with Suffolk Constabulary, I’m Special Branch. We’ve been investigating the activities of Storm45 and suspected a link to Sinclair, but we were unable to prove anything. Your statement was brought to our attention and I had the wreckage searched and lo and behold they discovered the Glock you described in your statement, it was covered with Sinclair’s fingerprints. So in fact, you’re in the clear as far as we are concerned. We’ll mop up the Storm45 members that we know of and just let sleeping dogs lie about Sinclair now that he’s dead.’

  With that, Warren excused himself and left, promising to be in touch later to clear the publication of our findings about the Miller-Sinclair story, but he left me in no doubt that the part of the story involving Sinclair and Storm45 was strictly off limits, unless I particularly wanted an in depth investigation of the crash. Warren had clearly put two and two together and suspected that the accident was far from accidental. When he had departed, Jane sat on the edge of my bed, glanced at her watch and looked into my eyes.

  ‘Ian, I’m sorry to have to leave you here, but I’ve got a job interview tomorrow and I need to go.’

  ‘Southampton?’

  She nodded with tears in her eyes.

  ‘You better get going then.’

  ‘Lucy should be home tomorrow, so you won’t be alone. You’ll be alright?’

  ‘Does it matter? You go on and get on with your life; I’m your past, look after your future.’ She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, then walked out of my life for the last time.

  Epilogue

  I was out of bed in a wheelchair, when Lucy and Lisa arrived the following day. They had arranged to meet at the airport and had come straight to the hospital, pausing only to buy flowers and balloons with which they decorated my bed and locker.

  Lisa arrived with the news that James had taken the opportunity of her visit to Prague to propose to her. She had, of course, accepted. Lucy insisted on getting the full story and then visited Father Charlie to read the Miller journal for herself. She helped Lisa and I write the final instalment for the newspaper, ensuring that the story was angled to have the maximum political impact. Warren contacted us to ensure that no mention was made of the BNRA-Storm45 link; that was strictly prohibited.

  Without the charismatic leadership of Sinclair, support for the BNRA fell away in the polls. The newspaper revelations about Sinclair, father and son was the final nail in their coffin. By the time the election came, their standing was so low that they failed to win a single seat.

  I was released from hospital within a few days, Lisa insisting that I recuperate at her Hackney flat. This met with the complete approval of my daughter.

  Since then, Jane and I have filed for divorce. She seems happy in her new life. I still miss her, I always will, but I no longer feel so totally bereft. I don’t know what the future holds, but I know that I have so much to lose, so I’m getting on with my life.

  Author’s note

  Historians are still debating who was responsible for the Reichstag fire. The version that I have recounted here including the parts played by Karl Ernst, Adolf Rall and Hans Gewehr has been offered as an explanation and the description of the fire does owe much to the account of eyewitness Sefton Delmer, which can be found in full on the internet. Did the Nazis do it? When asked later Karl Ernst replied ‘If I admitted it I would be a bloody fool; if I denied it, I would be a bloody liar.’ So make up your own mind. What is indisputable is that the fire paved the way for the establishment one of the most brutal, tyrannical and inhuman dictatorships the world has ever seen.

  Although there was no village of Montegrillo, the atrocities I have described there are similar to those committed by the Nationalists elsewhere in the Spanish Civil War. Believe it or not the words encouraging his men to commit rape ascribed to General Queipo de Llano, really were spoken.

  There was an internment camp establ
ished in 1940 at St Denis near Paris, but there is no museum, the camp is long since gone.

  The concentration camps of Auschwitz and Birkenau still remain as a memorial to those who were so barbarically murdered in the Holocaust. They are a terrible reminder of what mankind is truly capable of, if unrestrained by morality. For those who wish to understand the true origins of the Holocaust, I would recommend Ian Kershaw’s excellent Hitler, the Germans and the Final Solution. The Holocaust Archive in Krakow is however a product of my imagination.

  Elsewhere, historical characters and the places described in this novel do, for the most part, really exist.

  Stuart Allison

  Suffolk 2010