by Phil Brett
The pair of them seemed unconcerned by any possibility of the trauma which Janet and I had just gone through.
Cole explained her little trick: ‘Roijin was hidden in the cab of the lorry that followed us in, the one that showered you with mud. I’m sure that wasn’t her doing,’ she joked.
Yeah, funny. Ha, ha.
Cole got the hint and changed the subject to something more serious that mud-slinging. ‘Anyway, how long have we got?’
Kemal looked at her palm-top. ‘Thirty eight minutes and forty two seconds until the explosion was expected.’
‘Okay, so let’s get a move on. Can you do anything with this?’ She passed Kemal his phone.
Leaving the pair to it, I went over to Janet Kovac. ‘You okay, Janet?’ I asked.
She nodded. Colour was returning to her cheeks, and her eyes were looking less like glass marbles.
‘Quite a punch, comrade. Shame the party isn’t pro-boxing; otherwise, you could be a contender.’
Whilst she didn’t guffaw or howl with laughter, she did smile. I sat next to her. ‘Are you up to talking? We really need some answers, and we don’t have much time.’
Almost in a whisper, she said, ‘Yes.’
‘Thanks, Janet. Tell me what Youssef spoke to you about.’
‘He just asked what you had been asking – did I have any suspicions about anyone or reason to doubt the authenticity of anyone at the plant. I told him that I hadn’t and that you had run checks on people. He asked who had recently come here, and I told him that there had been quite a few but they had been relocated from other power plants – except, of course, for Andy.’ She looked him with an expression you might have for a fresh turd. ‘Like I said, I told him that you were looking into backgrounds of the staff here.’
‘What did he say to that?’
‘Nothing, really. He said that he knew you were on the case for the NWC, but he was doing this as a friend of Olivia’s. Well, I’ve seen him at party events and he has even been here, so I didn’t see why I shouldn’t speak to him. He did ask about the militia outside, but I told him that we had little to do with them and that they had no access to the plant.’
‘Okay, that’s interesting. Did he ask about any individuals?’
‘No, not really. Well, he ran through some names he had. He obviously had a full staff list, as he knew their jobs and even their work history.’ She gave a slight giggle. ‘I even thought he might be going to interview them for a job, but we know that wasn’t the case. Poor man.’ Her face tightened. ‘Do you really think Thomas had nothing to do with his or Olivia’s deaths? I couldn’t bear the thought that I had helped him or got Youssef in any danger.’
‘Well, if you mean did he kill them himself, then no, Janet, we don’t. He has alibis for both, and we think he is more like a private in the army. Who we are after – the person who did kill them – is an officer. But, somehow, this officer found out about his involvement and murdered Ali to eliminate him, just as they did with Olivia when they found out that she had been talking to Terry Walsh.’
‘So, if it wasn’t him who killed them, he must have passed the information onto the person who did, so he must know who they are!’
‘Not necessarily. He could have passed it onto a third party, or more likely to an anonymous email address or something. And even if he does know, we don’t have the time to get any answers off him. No doubt that when news that this little scheme has gone belly up, then there’s a good chance they will do a runner.'
Time was a precious commodity here and I didn't have much more to spend; I needed her to get back to the point. I asked, ' So what else did Ali talk to you about?’
She held her hands together in her lap. ‘Yeah, right. He asked about the effects of sabotage here and what it might mean if something went wrong. To be honest, I don’t really know why he was asking, because he knows more about that stuff than I do. He knew the water pressures used and even the underwater streams which pass by, so I think he was just double checking. He didn’t seem that interested in my answers, and it was almost as if he was just reassuring himself—’
Just then, my glorious leader summoned me. ‘Pete?’
I apologised to Janet and went back to Victoria and Roijin, who appeared to be playing charades and were now pretending they were a stopwatch. ‘Thirty one minutes three seconds,’ they announced.
‘I get it. We haven’t got long. Find anyone of use?’
Roijin pulled a face. ‘Yes, and no. The only name we recognise is Terry Walsh, but apart from that, nothing definite. From the messages between the two, it is quite obvious that the original plan was for Walsh to plant the bomb, whilst Thomas sorted out the Control Centre, but the messages from Walsh start to get less and less, and Thomas’s more and more, worried.
‘That doesn't matter so much now. We think we might have found something far more useful with these messages between him and . . .’ she paused and coughed, ‘this person who goes by the name of “dog”. He’s sent a number of messages, which are all along the same lines. This morning, at 07.34, he wrote: Rabbit to dog. Ready to dig. Are you ready to bark? The reply is a simple Woof. Then, twenty minutes later, he sends, At the warren. The reply was The pack is ready. At 08.55 – Carrot buried. Will be eaten at 10.00 – was sent. The reply to that was, Barking to start at 10.10. And that was the last one.’
The three of us exchanged looks. ‘Hardly the Enigma Code is it?’ chuckled Victoria.
‘It is just so, so naff!’
‘Well, we’re not dealing with the intelligentsia, Pete.’
‘Just British Intelligence.’
She grinned.
‘It does solve one problem at least.’
‘Indeed.’
‘But what about the main one?’ Roijin asked. ‘We still don’t know who the person organising this is. As we can see, it plainly isn’t Thomas here. If it was, then he’d be King Rabbit!’
Victoria smiled. ‘Indeed. Any ideas, Pete?’
Actually, I did. One that had been in my mind for a few days, but one which was a long shot of such length that your sharpest shooter would be lucky to hit it. But, then again, we didn’t have too many alternatives here, and if the bomb wasn’t ticking, then the moment of truth certainly was. There was a problem in that it had come from the same source as the answer to what was happening here, and that came with a lot of issues in itself. But they didn’t need to know that I had got the idea after meeting my sister. That would be my sister who not only hated the revolution but had been asked to worked for the counter-revolution, and for good measure, had a rather complicated sibling relationship with me. No, they really didn't need to know the details.
‘I think I might, but you need to get onto some of the local NWC branches and organise some very uncomradely snooping,' I said.
Hopefully, my theory was right, because we were sitting deep underground by high pressurised water pipes with a terrorist nursing a broken jaw, handcuffed by his disabled bomb, and now with less than half an hour before the action really started.
We had discussed the outline of what we were to do before we had arrived here but as I made clear what the implications were, and what were going to have to do, I had expected outrage. But, whilst there was some opposition, in truth, there had not been as much as you would expect. Proof, I thought of how desperate we were.
There was agreement, and from that - organisation. Now, I had to summon all the courage I had. What was going to happen above ground was going to be nerve shredding.
35. Caltha palustris
I wasn’t exactly hoisted aloft with admiration when I suggested a slight alteration to our plan of action, but with nothing else being within digging distance of a viable option, Cole had shrugged agreement – with as much enthusiasm as one might for a gall bladder removal. Perhaps after all this – if we survived this – I would ask how come Cole and Kemal, who loved to strike such professional poses, had been so amateur hour here. Winging it didn’t appear to me to be
a great strategy. But that could wait. Due to Andy Thomas’s now very loud moans, I walked a few metres down the tunnel and thought about what I was going to say. After a few minutes, I decided on the truth.
Quickly glancing at my watch, I guessed she would be partaking in some black market croissants and coffee. Taking a deep breath, I phoned.
My sister Sophie answered, carefully removing with a napkin a flake of pastry off her very red lips. She was a creature of habit, just as I was. ‘Pete, what are – where on earth are you? It looks like you’re in some kind of tunnel!’
I told her.
‘Why?’
I explained exactly what had just happened. She didn’t believe me, so I turned my phone around and zoomed onto the bomb strapped to the pipe and a de-jawed Thomas being handcuffed to one of the pipe’s struts. As I did, I filmed it, saving it to her phone. Turning it back onto me, I saw her sitting bolt upright in a severe black suit with a crisp white shirt. She did look stylish. We had more in common that either of us dared to admit. Which, it had to be said, was what I was banking on.
‘And who is that man who is being roughly handled by your accomplice Cole?’
‘Andy Thomas. He's the grunt who planted the bomb and altered the protocols. Oh and who was just was about to execute your beloved brother.’
‘I don’t know him.’
‘You wouldn’t. He isn’t important.’
‘What did he hope to achieve?’
I answered, ‘In no particular order: poison the locality’s water supply, frighten the locals, kill off plant life and vegetation, sicken unfortunate herbivores, pollute ponds, embarrass Jackie Payne, isolate the revolution and murder a few people.’
‘That’s quite a list, Peter.’
‘I know, Sophie, that some items in the list are ones you might applaud, but you should see, in the starkest terms, what is going on here, and I know that, in your heart, you will abhor their methods.’
Her manicured face didn't move. ‘And that is quite a statement, Peter. Have you any proof or have you just rang to make pompous speeches?’
‘Didn’t you just see the bomb? The fucking bomb, Sophie!’
‘All I saw was a box and a man being man-handled by comrade Cole, but I didn’t see anything which could prove the apocalypse which you are claiming.’
I explained what they hoped would, and possibly still might, happen here.
She didn’t react, or in fact say anything, but just looked at me. Finally, she did speak. ‘So, why are you ringing me? I would have thought a call to your heroic militia would have been more useful than to this washed-up bureaucrat.’
False modesty didn’t suit her, but it was a fair question.
‘We want to get more than the likes of Thomas; we want to get the person who is behind this. Who, I believe, has a number of murders, including Olivia Harrison and Youssef Ali, on their personal CV. I know you do not support the revolution, but equally, you do not support state-sponsored terrorism. That is why you turned MI5 down. I want you to help us catch them.’
Her well-practiced ice-cool cracked. ‘Me?’
‘I have a pretty good idea who it is, but we need to flush the shit out and that is where you can help.’
‘How?’ Clearly, she was cutting down on how many words she used in a sentence.
‘You have a contact number for them. You must have. There must have been a facility for you to reach them if something came up – something urgent.’
‘Well, no—’
‘Don’t Sophie, just don’t. I don’t have the time, the patience or the desire. Just listen. Please. You do have some way of contacting them. I have no doubt that you don’t know who it is, or where they will take the message, but you do know that someone will and will do so quickly.’
For split second, I paused. I don’t know why, because I had no wish for her to speak until I had finished. Perhaps it was just from the habit of knowing that whenever I spoke, she would disagree and she could always out-shout me. But she didn’t say a word. She just sat there, listening.
‘I want you to contact them with that film footage and tell them that your brother and Victoria Cole have stopped the plot to sabotage the extraction plant and are busy making citizen arrests. I want you to tell them everything which I have just told you, so they know that we know. But I also want you to add something which is not true: I want you to tell them that we know the identity of the MI5 agent who is masterminding this, and we plan to arrest them. In fact, you fear that with my track record and mental instability, the likelihood is that I plan to execute them.’
‘What?’
She really wasn’t being very talkative at the moment.
‘Believe me. They’ll see that as being wholly credible.’
‘Why do you want me to do that?’
‘To force them to run.’
‘And why would you think that I would help the National Workers Council?’
‘Because you believe in democracy – a different type of democracy to the one that I believe in, but a democracy nonetheless. You are not in favour of mass murder.’
‘I have only have your word for that—’
‘You’ll have more, Sophie, but I can’t say any more now. Goodbye.’ I hung up and looked at the time.
It was time.
36. Aconite
The time was 10am, and it was time to get moving. As far as anyone else was concerned, the bomb had gone off and the new protocols had been set in motion, causing a surge of water pressure in the other pipe. According to Thomas’s highly skilled and encrypted message, the Dog would be barking very soon. That might change, once they realised that not only had it not gone off but there was no new protocol. Roijin had told us that she had inserted a video which she had hastily created of water rushing from the pipe. It was, in her words, not going to win any Oscars for special effects, so it wouldn’t fool them for long. In other words, we had to get our skates on.
Roijin and Victoria were ready. Janet was standing by them, still looking shocked by everything which was happening around her. I told them that I had made the call and, hopefully, if it all went well, my sister would call her contact in MI5. I didn’t want to examine too closely what the chance of her doing that was, or of their response being what we hoped it to be. Or, indeed, of us surviving this. So, I was pleased that nobody made any enquiries into such questions. They just nodded.
Cole had her back to Thomas and, with a huge wink worthy of some slapstick farce, asked Roijin, ‘So, you have set the bomb to go off five minutes after we leave?’
Roijin sombrely nodded. To me, their little drama looked as genuine as a ten bob note, whatever they used to be, but it obviously seemed legit to young Thomas, because he looked the epitome of panic. His attention darted from the bomb to us, and then back again.
We left him screaming for mercy, Cole and Kemal chuckling as we did, and Janet following as if in a dream. The standard of culture in our security services was appalling, if that was the quality of acting that they were accustomed to.
On reaching the lift, Cole turned around and addressed us. I think it was meant to be a pep talk. ‘We can do this. It's going to be fine. You two ready? You know what we have to do?’
Roijin and I both said that we did. Janet just stared, nonplussed.
‘Just do as I say,’ was all that Cole said to enlighten her. Then to us, she said, ‘Let’s go then. Good luck to us.’
It was hardly Shakespeare's Henry V in it its oratorical quality.
It certainly was dramatic when we reached the surface. No sooner had the doors opened, then we heard screams and shouts. Furniture was being broken. Fear and aggression all but punched our faces. They were either having a wild office party or it had begun.
‘Come on,’ whispered Cole, as she crouched down. We huddled behind her. I could see nothing but Roijin’s back and was only aware of the rather musky perfume she was wearing. Lavender-ish, I thought. Rather old fashioned. Janet held onto the back of my coat. Th
oughts flashed through my brain. Our plan was basically “cross your fingers and hope”. For all her bravado and her former profession, Victoria knew only marginally more than I did about this sort of thing. The four of us huddled down, looking absurd, and I hoped Janet wouldn’t tear the coat cloth by clutching it so tightly.
‘Go!’ Cole ordered.
We did. I, for one, found the action of running whilst crouching down rather hard on the joints. I wasn’t as young as I used to be. On getting to the door of one of the offices, we could see several large militia guards roughly handling staff. Every sentence uttered appeared to be fuck, bitch, whore and communist. Despite the arm bands and badges, it was quite clear that the militia were not aligned with the NWC. Just as we had expected. These oafs were from the other side.
One young technician received a rifle butt to his face. Howls of pain accompanied teeth flying out of his mouth.
Cole pointed ahead. She then put up five fingers, counting down one at a time. She wasn’t teaching us rudimentary numeracy, but telling us when to go. Once all digits were down into a closed fist, we dashed to the next corner. It didn’t look to be much of a hiding place. It proved not to be.
‘What the fuck are you doing, scum?’ a loud voice, dripping in Estuary vowels, yelled at us. ‘So who the fuck are you? More Trot fucks?’
I was guessing that he really wasn’t in the party. We all froze mid-stoop.
‘Stand up and face me,’ he ordered. We did as commanded, and saw a fat man in his thirties, dressed in full combat gear. His khaki cap had a large party badge on the front. ‘Which sewer did you crawl out of?’
Before we had a chance to answer that profound question, or indeed ponder indeed if he required an answer, he was quickly joined by a woman who could only be described as being intensely intimidating looking. Strangely, that was a relief. I hadn’t been looking forward to asking him if he had just asked a rhetorical question and then explaining what a rhetorical question was. She, too, was covered in left-wing badges, but spoke pure right-wing. She identified Janet in very un-PC terms, but said she didn’t know us. Again, it wasn’t gender non-sexual sensitive language. Still, she had a sub-machine gun, so I wasn’t going to discuss linguistics with her.
