“Ayee,” exclaimed Mary. Kakko was buzzing with shock. “Anna?” she whispered.
“She is not hurt,” replied Miriam. “She is fine. You saved her!”
The child had survived completely unscathed. Kakko looked over her shoulder to where the tukl had been. There was now just a huge hole in the ground! She reached out to pick up the camera. It was still humming. It was not damaged; it had been running throughout! Kakko pointed it in the direction of the tukls. Oddly the thing that struck her most about the scene was the water jars – they were all shattered with their contents soaking into the soil. All that effort from the children wasted. She tried to sit up to keep filming – and then the pain really hit her! “We must get her out of the sun,” cried Miriam.
Somehow they lifted Kakko to the cleft from which she had emerged. Then they were anxious for the children; already some of the women were packing what they could salvage to climb over the mountain to find safety.
“Leave me here. You go. My people will come for me,” said Kakko. But they would not leave her. She dragged herself painfully further between the rocks, and then, with huge relief, she saw the white gate.
“Water,” demanded Mary, “we must wash the wound.” The children rushed to find something with which to get water. While they were distracted, Kakko, clutching her camera, pulled herself through the gate.
She collapsed onto the road outside White Gates Cottage just as a car turned into it. The driver stopped the car and came over to her. He thought she must have been hit by another vehicle that had not stopped.
“My leg,” winced Kakko. Her skirts were horribly blood-soaked.
***
Within half-an-hour Kakko was in the hospital operating theatre having a lump of shrapnel removed under a local anaesthetic.
“A flesh wound,” pronounced the doctor, “you are a lucky young lady!” But Kakko could only think of those women and children she had left behind who were going to have to leave without any food or water, to walk, who knows where, or for how long. Where was the luck for them? At least, she recalled, this time what I did was right. If I had waited that child would have definitely died. But then, I did think about it – for five seconds! She knew what people were going to say, but this time she was absolutely sure she had done the wise thing. God had sent her precisely because she wasn’t the sort to hesitate.
***
Amazingly, Kakko did not come in for the lectures she expected. She explained that she had thought first, and then acted, and, as it turned out, it had been the right decision. Her parents were in a state of shock, but not surprise. She overheard her father outside the door to the ward telling her mother that they had to accept that they did not have a daughter with the instinct to play it safe. According to Bandi and Shaun, they were secretly proud of her. Shaun explained that Matilda had said how it was impossible to wash the spots off a leopard.
“A leopard?” queried Kakko.
“A big, wild cat,” said Shaun. “Apparently it has a spotted coat of fur. I guess that if you tried to wash off the spots the leopard would scratch and bite you. It’s wild and ferocious.”
“And she thinks I am wild and ferocious like this cat? They are frightened of me? I don’t believe it. Nan is not phased by anyone – least of all by me.”
“No, I don’t think it’s like that,” said Bandi pensively, “Nan actually said, ‘a leopard can’t change her spots’. I think she means that, even if she herself wanted to, the leopard cannot alter what she is like. Spots and leopards go together. Kakko and ‘rushing to people’s rescue’ also go together – no-one, not even you, yourself, can change that.”
“Then she is very wise,” murmured Kakko. “I am trying not to act impetuously.”
“I think they know that,” said Bandi. “I believe they think you have grown up some.”
“Do they? Well, perhaps I have.”
Apparently, the way she had told the history of events betrayed a certain, mature reasonableness that she had gained from somewhere.
Tam was very attentive, of course; he showered her with gifts of flowers and sweets and was wholly supportive.
Pastor Ruk said some nice things, too. And he, mused Kakko, is a very wise person!
34
It was two days after she got out of hospital that Kakko spotted the white gate again. This time it was right opposite the gate to the cottage garden and she couldn’t miss it. She swung across on her crutches and looked through. She saw a bustle of people and vehicles and what looked like very tall buildings. This was a city. The contrast with the red-soiled bush land emptied of people of her last trip was stark. This place was vibrant, busy and crowded. Immediately she knew what she must do. She had not been given the opportunity to take those video shots for nothing – these people were probably in ignorance of the plight of the black people she had met and who had welcomed her so warmly. This was the place to share what she had seen and known.
Kakko headed home and quickly found the video camera. She took the piece of shrapnel too. “Mum,” she shouted. “I have to go. I must go now. There is another white gate.” Matilda appeared from her room.
“Kakko. Please don’t go! You must rest. You could open up your wound! We haven’t got over last time yet. You are so young, so headstrong. You are not really safe.”
“Nan. I am almost nineteen. Mum and Dad were having adventures when Mum was seventeen!”
“I know – but I wasn’t really aware of what they were up to.”
“Do you want me to keep my adventures a secret?”
“No. No,” sighed Matilda.
“If I had not gone last time a little baby girl called Anna would be dead. You know that if the white gates are there I am being called. The Creator will care for me. Whatever happens I am always in Her care. These people from Planet Earth taught me that. Under those bombs they had so much faith, God was so real to them – and at that moment to me too. But, Nan, I promise I will be careful.”
“You’re right. I must learn to trust you. But such dramatic things happen around you Kakko.”
“Maybe… maybe that is why it’s me that has to go.”
“Perhaps. But you mustn’t blame your nan for being protective… your mother and father are both in town all day, so I will tell them where you are,” sighed Matilda. “But you may even be back before them. What about Tam?”
“He has lectures all day. If I am not back before him, get him to check for a gate. Thanks Nan.” Kakko gave her a big hug, then gathered up her video camera, put it in a shoulder-bag, grabbed her crutches and swung through the gate.
***
A minute later Kakko found herself in a crowded street in a big city. In front of her was a round stone building atop a flight of steps. Looking up she glimpsed a stone spire behind which was an imposing glass-fronted building with a deep-set courtyard at the end of which were the letters “BBC”. She stood for a moment trying to come to terms with everything. A large man pushed by and nearly took her off her crutches – he seemed quite oblivious to it. “Thank you!” she called after him but he did not hear, or did not want to hear!
“You OK?” said a young women in a tight skirt, matching jacket and high heels.
“Yeah,” smiled Kakko.
“Some people are dead ignorant,” said the woman.
“Yeah,” said Kakko again. “Tell me, what is this place?”
“All Soul’s, Langham Place, and the building behind it is the BBC.”
“BBC? What’s the BBC?”
“The BBC! You must be from another planet! Sorry, I mean, most people have come across the BBC somewhere. You don’t sound foreign.”
“Thanks. But I don’t live here. I haven’t been here before.”
“You mean London, or here in Portland Place?”
“London. This is London?”
“Yes, right in the middle of it. The BBC is the British Broadcasting Corporation. It’s been around since, I don’t know, beginning of the twentieth century. 1922 or
something? Behind us is Regent Street leading down to Oxford Circus. You’ve heard of Oxford Street?” Kakko shook her head.
“All Soul’s Church?” said Kakko looking up at the imposing spire.
“Yes. Are you going in there?”
“No. I guess it’s the BBC I want. I have a video report.”
“News?”
“Yes. Bad news. Bombing… of children!”
“You have videoed children being killed?”
“They did not die. Not this time. The people say it happens all the time and nobody seems to know what is happening to them. I have filmed it.”
“So you want the world to know! Lady you have come to the right place.”
“Thanks. I’m Kakko.”
“Karen. Nice to meet you. You OK on those crutches? What happened?”
“Bomb.”
“OMG. Tell me about it.”
Kakko began her tale. She wanted to tell everyone on Earth about Miriam, Anna and her mother and the others. She had promised them. This was her first opportunity. But Karen realised she was uncomfortable standing up on her crutches with people coming at them from both directions.
“Come on. Do you want to go for a coffee? Have you got time? I want to hear all about this.”
“Sure. I’ve got time,” replied Kakko. “I am here to tell people about what I saw… and felt and smelt!”
They went into Starbuck’s and found a couple of chairs inside the door. Karen ordered two coffees.
“Thanks,” said Kakko. “It’s so easy to get a drink here. Miriam and the children have to walk a mile to get water. They’ve probably never tasted coffee,” she said. And she began her story. She finished by fishing out the lump of shrapnel she still had shoved in her pocket.
“Yuk! That was in your leg? It could have killed you.”
“I know. I’m lucky.”
“What annoys me is that most of these weapons come from Europe, America or China somewhere, or the machines that make them do. We’re always saying that countries like yours – the one you visited – should stop their fighting. We urge them to come to peace agreements and so on, and even help set up negotiations. But we’re hypocrites because it’s us that are giving them the weapons.”
“Why? Why do that?”
“Because people make money out of it. The weapons manufacturers need overseas sales to make a profit. It’s all about commercial investment.”
“Making money out of weapons for killing innocent children! That’s criminal. It’s corporate murder!”
“I agree. I wish more people would recognise that. But we have all these rich rulers of poor countries coming to arms fairs to buy the latest killing machines. And there is an enormous illegal international trade in arms.”
“But why doesn’t your government stop them – these fairs and these traders?”
“Well they want the taxes don’t they. And the votes. There are a lot of people employed in making arms. The planes, the tanks, the guns, the bullets – they are made by people who might vote them out. That’s democracy.”
“Democracy gone mad.”
“Quite mad. But if more people understood what is happening then the people would make an issue of it and the politicians would come into line. They would stand out against the arms manufacturers and back other things that would benefit people. After all, we could make money building them hospitals and sending state of the art medical equipment, couldn’t we?”
“So, how can I get my story to as many people on Earth as possible in a short time?”
“The BBC. They broadcast right across the world. People will be watching their tellies and using their news apps. You’ll be famous.”
“I wish.”
“You have the videos. Go in there and tell them!”
“Right!”
They went out onto the busy street and Kakko looked up at the BBC behind the church.
“Come on,” said Karen, “I’ll see you there.”
As they reached the far side of the church Karen led Kakko down through to the main entrance. She took her hand and wished her luck.
“I’ll be watching the BBC news. I hope you make a splash,” she said.
“Thanks,” said Kakko. “And thanks for the coffee.”
“My pleasure. Go well.”
Inside the building Kakko approached a reception desk and explained that she wanted to see someone from ‘news’.
“Have you got an appointment?” the woman asked.
“N -no.”
“ID?”
“Idea? I am here about a bomb.” The woman’s face drained of all colour.
“W-what do you want?”
“I want to tell someone about the bombs I saw dropped on children. I have a video.”
“You mean… you don’t have a bomb… in that bag?”
“No! This is a video camera. Why should I bring a bomb in here?”
“You tell me?” the receptionist sighed. “But I need your ID.”
“ID? What is that?”
“Something to identify you – with a photo. Driving licence, passport…”
“Oh, no. Sorry.”
“Well I can’t just let you see someone without ID or without an appointment.”
“But this is important.”
“It’s always important.”
Kakko had had enough. “Last week I was in this place where there were only mud huts with grass roofs,” her voice was raised, “and an aeroplane deliberately bombed them. There were no men, just a few women and lots of children. The pilot knew what he was doing. I have pictures. I have a video of the plane and the bombs falling, and the people. I want the world to know!” By this time she was almost shouting.
A man in a snazzy suit and striped shirt, no tie, came over. “It’s OK, Natalie, leave this one to me. What is your name young lady?”
“Kakko Smith.”
“And what were you doing in, where was it?”
“I don’t know what the place was called. It was very hot and dusty. They call their houses tukls. I just got taken there, so to speak. That’s how it happens with us. I was given a video camera.” Kakko pulled it from her shoulder-bag.
“I met these children. They were badly dressed and starving. I was talking to them and they were telling me about the attacks when this plane came – they called it an Antonov – and it dropped bombs on their little compound. Most of them hid among the rocks but a little child was still in the hut. I got her but a bomb landed before we got right away.”
“I think I know where you are talking about. Come to my office Miss Smith. Thank you Natalie,” he said to the receptionist.
“You’re welcome Mr Perch.”
***
Kakko was led to a lift. How many floors they went up she couldn’t tell. He took her to an office with a view across one of the streets below. She didn’t know which one. He offered her coffee, or something stronger. Then looked at her again and suggested a coke which Kakko accepted. Mr Perch put his head round a door and said, “Patty you couldn’t find a coke could you? And coffee for me. Thanks. So Miss Smith,” he breathed as he turned back into the room and offered Kakko a seat, “we know what is going on but our problem is we cannot get reporters in there safely and we have no hard evidence. Without it the perpetrators just deny it and accuse us of deceit. Then the government – our government – urges us to back off because they don’t want to upset their finely balanced diplomacy.”
“What if you did have hard evidence? Evidence that they are deliberately bombing children? I have video pictures and a bit of one of the bombs they dropped when I was there.”
“Can I see?”
Kakko pulled out the piece of shrapnel that had been embedded in her leg. “Is that hard enough for you? That entered my body while I was shielding a small child!”
Perch picked up the metal.
“It certainly looks like a piece of a bomb,” he observed. “And I am sure you can produce an X-ray to prove it was inside you.”
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“I think the doctor would give me that. But I don’t have one with me.”
“No matter. But what really counts is the evidence to prove how it got there.”
Kakko handed him the video disc.
“How much footage?”
“Footage?”
“How long is the video?”
“I am talking with the women and children for one hour. Then the attacks – another twenty minutes. Then afterwards I took pictures of the bomb crater and the destroyed tukl from where I was lying but I could not move around. A child took more of me being patched up and stuff laying about but I’m afraid it’s very wobbly. And then I had to get out to get attention.”
Patty came in with a glass of cold coke and the coffee her boss had ordered.
“Patty, get this to news-desk for me will you.” Turning to Kakko, “You say this happened only a few days ago?”
“Yes. The doctors say I should be resting.”
“Quite. It’s urgent, Patty. Tell them it’s still hot.” Patty left briskly.
“So how did you get out?”
“It’s something that happens to us.”
“Us?”
“I will tell you but you must not report it because it might distract. I don’t want to become the celebrity in this; it’s important none of the attention it taken away from these kids. My family… we are led through portals – in our case white gates. We can see them only when we are meant to go through them. No-one else ever sees them… and it can be anywhere in the universe.” Perch began to wonder what he had let himself in for. But this young woman didn’t seem to be mad.
“You asked me?” she smiled. “You will have to trust me. I am telling you this privately. My father is from Britain. He was born in Persham.”
“I suppose that makes it a bit easier,” stammered Perch. “and I don’t suppose you have any evidence for all of this?”
“I didn’t have to tell you. But I want you to trust me because this is so important. My last white gate led me across the street from your office.”
Ultimate Justice Page 35
