by Phil Brett
Seeing me drowning, Victoria threw me a rubber ring. ‘We have already a few images which we can use. In themselves, they are not enough, but we are pursuing other avenues which we hope will be more substantial.’
‘Such as?’
My turn to talk again. Interspersed with flowery descriptions of the committee’s meetings and strategies, I dragged in fracking centres, wind farms and everything else I could think of.
Finally, I got to Ali. With my best matinee idol calmness, I basically then told her how we had been spying on a comrade without any accountability. Oh, I dressed it up in all manner of flowery language, but essentially we'd been prying into a comrade's life. Her nail stopped, but she did not say anything. Finishing, I hastened to explain that we had not taken any further action until we had been given permission to do so, and we realised that could only be given by a meeting of the NWC security committee. Stable doors were bolted and horses were running free.
Her hand moved from stroking her mouth to the metal bar at the back of her seat. I didn’t dare think what that might mean. Every muscle in her face had tightened. You didn’t need a PhD in body language to know she wasn’t happy about this latest bit of news. ‘I see,’ was all she said. Looking at Cole, she asked her if she had anything to add. Both had been delivered without Jackie seemingly moving her lips.
Cole looked her straight in the eyes and shook her head, and repeated that we felt it strange that Ali had seemingly been incommunicado for so long.
There was no explosion of anger from Jackie. No “How dare you?” or “Who do you think you are?” or any type of rebuke. She, in fact, didn’t say a word to us, but just touched her ear and instructed her earpiece to ring Youssef Ali on all numbers. After a few seconds, she confirmed that she, too, had met with no joy. She looked straight ahead. I guessed that she wasn’t admiring the bus passing us – the new Chinese-made, Indian-designed, eco-driverless double-decker. She was thinking about what to do. Obviously, she shared our puzzlement at why Ali had gone quiet.
Touching her ear-piece again, she instructed it to ring “Contact 32”. This time, she was more successful.
‘Nevin!’
On hearing Ali’s partner answer, she smiled. I wondered what reason she was going to give for the call. Hopefully, she wasn't going to pass on everything I had just said. Noticeably, it was audio only, so she would not have to explain why she was sitting on a number 38 with Cole and me. ‘Hi! How are you? Didn’t see you at the NWC this morning. Where are you? Having a day off?’ She laughed a very unconvincing laugh.
‘Of course, you’re in Marseilles. I forgot. How’s it going? Really? Good. Remind me: how long have you been there? Well, lucky you, staying in sunny south of France whilst we freeze our butts off here. I’m having a fun day talking to the city’s transport workers. Yes, I know, Nevin. You’re there for party work, not play. Well, try not to work too hard and have a night off.’
Smoothly, she moved to why she had called. ‘Look, Nevin. I’ve been trying to get hold of Youssef, but with no luck. He’s not answering his phone or anything else. I know he does this from time to time, but have you any idea where he is or how I can get in contact with him?’
She listened for a moment or two, before thanking him and finishing the call.
‘He says he hasn’t been able to contact him either, but just thinks that it is Youssef working too hard. As far as he is concerned, Youssef should have been at the NWC today.’
She gave us a hard look. ‘Do you really think that there is anything suspicious about this? It seems to me that you don’t have much to warrant any further invasion into his privacy. To be frank, I am far from happy at what you have done already. Based on a few flimsy presumptions, you have spied on a citizen of the workers’ state.’
‘And in doing so, we found out that he had attempted to hack into the networks of everyone connected with the investigation,’ I pointed out.
‘True. However, the end does not justify the means because, otherwise, the means corrupts the end. I will be informing the judicial council of what you have done. I’m sorry, but no one is above the law. It may be that they’ll decide to take no action against you because of the extreme circumstances we are faced with, but we cannot begin to shortcut our rights. Don’t you agree?’
Cole and I confirmed that we both did, Cole adding that she hoped that Jackie would point out why we had done so, and what we thought was at stake. I thought about how Dr Brakus was going to react when she heard about this.
Accepting that we weren’t planning to set up a tyrannical dictatorship just yet, Jackie said, in an incredulous voice, ‘You surely don’t suspect Youssef of anything?’
I paused in thought, and then said, ‘Jacks, I’m honestly not sure. Something’s not right, but I’m not sure what that is. But this is political, and we can’t let personal feelings get in the way. We should at least have a chat with him and see—’
‘No, Pete. You will not. You have done enough.’ Her look was only slightly softened by our friendship, which no matter how sorely tested of late, still remained. But she was not accepting any opposition. We didn’t offer any. Once she had established that we were to cease any investigations into comrade Ali, her tone softened. ‘So, you think Olivia was murdered, not simply because of the policy of destabilisation by assassination, but because she had discovered something? Possibly something to do with the fracking plant, which possibly is linked with Youssef?’
It was a neat summary, clearly encapsulating how little we had to go on. I didn’t hide the fact. ‘Possibly,’ I replied.
‘Possibly?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘And you think “possibly” is enough justification for your actions?’
Now, this would have been a great time for Cole to jump in and help me out. But, alas, she remained silent. Presumably, she understood that Pete Kalder 'taking the lead' translated into 'Pete Kalder getting the bollocking'. I would have liked her to have a better phrase book, but I was far from being a tourist here. ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘I think this is not the act of a lone wolf but a part of a coordinated conspiracy to destroy us. If they succeed, then we shall have more to worry about than a few niceties being disturbed—’
‘And with such thoughts, tyrants have committed all sorts of despicable acts.’
I agreed, but pointed out that neither Cole nor I had yet to start show trials, an inquisition or crowning ourselves emperor.
Despite herself, she smiled.
‘So where is Ali?’ I asked. Adding, that if we were not allowed to look into his movements, then perhaps she could do it herself.
She sighed, thought for a second and then took out her phone. She gave it a command: ‘Projection. Attendance NWC. The previous twenty-four hours until now.’
A list of names came up as to who had had been present, at which meetings and for how long.
‘Search – Youssef Ali.’
One name came up: Youssef L Ali: member of the Democratic Lefts.
‘That’s not our Youssef. This one’s a Scouser. Ours has not been present at the NWC during this period.’ She paused. ‘List organised meetings for the same duration.’
It did so, along with a list of names of those who had been expected to attend. Noticeably, there had been one this morning on assisting drought-ridden countries and one the previous night preparing for the environment conference. On both, he was down to be the main speaker. He had attended neither.
‘Odd, don’t you think?’ I said.
‘Maybe,’ she mused. ‘But you will let me look into it.’
I wanted to protest, but I knew that it would be hopeless. All that would happen would be that my objections would be waved aside with a regal wave. But then she said something which I hadn’t been expecting. ‘Pete, I accept Vic’s thinking on why you should be included, and I am honestly pleased to see you recovering, but I do not want a repeat of what happened last time. The pair of you have an important role to play in the service of the workers’ revolution, which grants c
ertain freedoms, but there are limits. So, I will repeat: you will leave Ali to me.’
She deliberated for a second before asking, ‘So, have you any theories why Olivia was murdered?’
There were many answers to this, but the both of us thought it boiled down to one: ‘It’s down to power, in both senses of the word,’ I said, thinking that was a rather clever way of putting it. ‘The forthcoming world environment conference will put us in the spotlight in terms of leading the way on green energy and eco-conservation. The fact that we have organised this is important. It will give us a world platform to put our politics, especially of course, of managing the world's resources responsibly and with care. So, if they manage to disrupt our energy power sources, we will look foolish at it.’
She nodded, murmuring, ‘If we can’t control our own energy production, then how can we lead others to do so?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Is making us look foolish enough to get someone killed nowadays?’
‘If it is part of a broader strategy. We witnessed first-hand at the wind farm that they see energy production as a target. In their opinion, it is a weak spot. It seems obvious that Olivia saw something at the fracking centre which worried her. What she saw got her killed.’
‘So, you've ditched the idea that its connected with last year's St Paul's bombing?’
I shrugged. It had, after all, been my pet theory, but it was. at least temporarily, in the cage. ‘Hmm, kind of. For the moment,’ I murmured.
There was a slight pause. ‘Okay. I see. So why can’t it be someone at the fracking centre?’
Cole perked up. ‘Too localised. It is quite possible that they do have someone at the centre, but the person who killed Olivia is higher up. They’ll want to be organising an attack on a broader front. So they would need somebody with access to more than a few pumps.’
‘And you’ve definitely ruled out the simple answer: that they are continuing with their policy of removing party cadre?’
‘Not completely,’ Cole replied. ‘But we both have a feeling that it’s more than that.’
‘Why?’
‘The international situation,’ I said. ‘After the failed coup, they had a four-point attack: cyber- attacks; international isolation through the embargo; propaganda from abroad about what we intended to do now that we are in power—’
Out of nowhere, Payne interrupted me, chuckling, ‘Yes, I remember having to have a rather surreal lunch with the heads of the major faiths to reassure them that, contrary to what is being reported, we were not going to enforce secularisation on people. The state was secular, but individuals could choose for themselves. Funnily enough, because of that, we have quite a good relationship with them. I’m seeing the Archbishop of Canterbury tomorrow. She and I are almost friends.’ She chuckled further.
‘You should try to recruit her,’ I joked.
‘Indeed,’ she replied, allowing a moment of humour before returning to the serious matter which we were addressing.
Seeing the change of mood, I continued. ‘The fourth was to use the agents which remained in the country to target individuals. But now, with the Portuguese revolution, which you yourself have seen first-hand, holding out not only its fraternal hand of friendship but an alliance to further our goal of world revolution, this is simply not enough. The embargo is cracking, with various countries pulling out through pressure from their own populations. World markets are crashing, with economies making Humpty Dumpty look the epitome of stability. Killing Olivia? Sorry to sound harsh, but she can be replaced. No, she was killed because of what she knew.’
When I stopped, there was silence. Never mind hearing pins drop; you could have heard a head of a pin, which had been cut into sevenths, drop.
‘But you don’t know what that was?’
I replied that we didn’t.
‘So, how can I help?’
I resisted the temptation to ask again for permission to delve into Ali’s life. She had made her position perfectly plain, and I certainly knew what mine was. Instead, I asked her to tell us what exactly was expected from this conference. She did so, at length.
Basically, it boiled down to the fact that the NWC had organised a conference in Norway, a country deemed suitable for us and other states. International green, socialist, revolutionary, social-democrat and liberal groups, some representing hundreds of thousands, had been invited. We had also - after much heated debate - done so to governments. The invite included those still actively opposing us. The only proviso was that they had been elected on a universal suffrage. In doing so, we had put ourselves in the position of win–win. If they accepted, it gave us credence. Decline, as most did, and we simply asked the court of the world's social media: ‘What were these governments doing to save the planet? Was their hatred of us more important than the planet’s environment?’ Some, though, had in fact agreed. Our position at the conference was that whilst global warming possibly could not be reversed, because of past international failures which had profit in front of survival, we could still manage the situation. How that would be achieved was what we were going to propose. There was a moment's silence before she asked, ‘You obviously think the conference and Olivia’s murder are linked. But, again, we return to the same question – exactly how?’
Now, Jackie – that is the question. And we didn't have the answer. Yet.
21. Zinnia elegans
Jackie had wished us luck, told us to keep her informed and then left. It hadn’t been much of a journey – a hop-on, hop-off type of thing. She alighted, all hugs and kisses, heard our news, gently chided and encouraged us in equal measure, and then got off. Watching her depart, I thought about what she had, and hadn’t, said to us.
‘Come on,’ I said to Victoria.
Before she had a chance to ask any awkward questions, I got to my feet and left. Revolution was all about dynamic leadership, and I was about to do just that. Puzzled, she followed. I increased my speed, weaving in and out of the remaining bus workers, and headed for my bike. The strategy was simple – get to the scooter as quick as possible, inform her of our next destination and then shoot off before she could argue. Despite the elegance of its simplicity, there were a few flaws in my well-thought out plan.
First off, I could confidently stride off and leave the questioning behind, but the trouble was that I wasn’t exactly sure of the address where I wanted to take her. Looking it up would rather spoil the man-of-action vibe – and give her the space to oppose my actions. Even worse was the issue of my winter over-clothes. The straining and struggling, huffing and puffing of slipping them on usually took a few minutes, which would give her ample opposition time. However, not wearing them risked frostbite in important areas. It had been bad enough coming here with them on. Like the idea of an illicit affair, the thought of cadging a lift with her – in her warm, comfortable and relaxing car – had flit across my mind, but that would pass the decision-making power to her.
Now, almost at a trot, I reached the bike, grabbed the over-clothes from under the seat and yanked them on: legs twisted, with one remaining at half-mast. Next up was the jacket – that was easier, give or take a collar being undecided whether to be in or out. By the time Victoria reached me, I looked like a junior Free Mason trying on his father’s clothes, but I had managed it. I was all but dressed and was putting on my helmet. Flipping down the visor, I turned the satnav on.
Now, to tell her.
‘Will you be able to keep up?’ I asked, buying some time to allow the map to appear.
She gave the scooter a look which was one of disdain and amusement. My little bike out-running her car? Unlikely.
‘The traffic can still be hellish,’ I said, concentrating more on the route than on the inanity of my comments.
Clearly suspicious at what I was up to, she answered carefully, ‘I’m sure I can, although it would help if I knew where we were going.’
There! The address had come up. Thank goodness that, at right this minute, the C
IA were too busy fomenting trouble somewhere else in the world to be blocking our networks. The satnav lived! I now knew where we would be heading.
‘Youssef’s home. Let’s see if he’s in.’
‘But we know he isn’t. You’ve tried. Jackie tried. No one's answering.’
‘Indeed. No one’s answering. That doesn’t mean he isn’t there.’
I swung my leg over the bike, feeling the tightening of the crotch as the leg of the over-trouser, which was still caught by my knee, stretched, squeezing various parts of my anatomy that, at my age, weren’t used to being handled thus.
Ignoring the discomfort, I grinned. ‘So, we’ll have to break in. Try to keep up!’ I set off before she could reply. Looking in my wing mirrors, I saw her astonishment. Nonetheless, she turned and headed for her car.
Smiling with satisfaction, I turned the visor map off and pulled to the side of the road, waiting for her catch up.
Once she had, we made good time, but then the journey from Hackney to Muswell Hill was hardly of Marco Polo proportions. Zigzagging in and out of the traffic, I amused myself by using it to keep the distance between us and to see how she managed to keep up. It hadn’t been as challenging as I had hoped, because whilst she couldn't utilise the narrower gaps, she was aided by the fact that it wasn’t bumper to bumper, so it allowed enough spaces for her to accelerate into, which, she did at every opportunity. Often at speed. She was also, I had to admit, a damn fine driver. I guess it came from her time in the police force – racing from one fit-up to the next.
I arrived with barely enough time to disentangle myself from the over-clothes and take my helmet off before she had parked next to me. She was out of the car in what was only marginally less than a jump. Without closing her door – indeed, without a hello, a comment about my driving or even an enquiry as to whether I was cold – she demanded what the hell did I think I was doing? Hadn’t Jackie made it plain that we were to leave Youssef alone? Didn’t I realise how undemocratic I was being?
