Gone Underground

by Phil Brett

  Despite putting the car into manual control and negotiating an exit from the car park, Cole gave me a wry look. Yeah, I know, defending Bale and seeing the point of full time law and order officials. I needed a long, long session with Dr Brakus. I didn’t respond, but took another breath, like I was turning for my last length in a swimming session.

  ‘We know who it is, Jacks. The MI5 agent is Emily Messager. She set the fracking episode up and it was she who killed Olivia and Youssef. We are trying to find her now—’

  ‘Bingo!’ cried Cole.

  ‘Correction, we’ve found her, and we’re about to see what she does. My bet is that she’ll flee to France.’

  If I had expected a dramatic howl of surprise, outrage or applause, I was disappointed. ‘Messager?’ she asked.

  ‘Emily Messager, a green anarcho. Buddies with Gita Devar, though we’re pretty sure that Gita had no idea. Messager’s been involved in the green power movement for a while.’

  ‘I know who she is,’ Payne sighed. ‘But why do you think it was her? Let’s not forget that previously you have pointed the finger at Youssef himself and, of course, Jack Foxton. So, how can you be sure? And you will need to be, because accusing a leading member of the AF is going to stir up a whole continent’s worth of hornets’ nests.’

  Actually, I had only thought Youssef Ali was worth looking into and had always had my doubts about Foxton, but I let that go.

  ‘We haven’t any firm evidence,’ I admitted, ‘but she lied about being here at the time of Olivia's murder. She made a call at the same from Battersea. She was in an ideal position to set all this up. She's one of the few who had the authority to appoint and transfer staff in the extraction centres in that region. She was responsible for ensuring that the centre was, unlike all the other centres, fully staffed. She also intervened in the selection of militia members to guard it. The idea was to stage a piece of sabotage. But that wasn’t the point. What was designed to undermine us, especially you at the conference, was the supposed execution of over one hundred workers in retaliation by party members. Both Olivia and Youssef had looked into staffing levels and allocations before their murders. We think they were getting close to the truth, and so she eliminated them.’

  We had pulled out of the NWC and were heading into Central London. Cole was on the phone to Asher Joseph whilst she drove. With the roads looking so precarious, I prayed to the Gods of multi-tasking.

  ‘It would make sense,’ I continued, ‘for the security services to have someone in the eco-power movement because, for years, successive governments were obsessed with the threat to the nation’s power supplies. Then, when we took power ourselves, they flipped her from being used to protect the industry to attacking it. Ali told a comrade not to tell anyone “connected” with the investigation. Not, you note, involved in but connected with. Messager wasn’t involved, but was connected through Devar. I also think that Olivia had cottoned onto her about the St Paul’s bombings a few months ago, which the previous prime minister had tried to pin on the anarchists. He had arranged through the security services to have some of the leading members of the Anarchist Federation be there at the explosion. The question has always puzzled me, and I think it puzzled Olivia as well, regarding who got them there and how. It must have been another leading member of the AF.

  We also have some hazy forensic evidence – and, I admit, this is also not conclusive – one of the images we put together of someone leaving the car park where Olivia was murdered. It’s a photo-fit, which could fit any large woman or small man and ditto a shoe impression. But it starts to add together.’

  I paused, but Jackie did not speak. She might be about to make a historic address to an international conference, but right now she was only listening to me. Now came the awkward part.

  ‘You know my sister Sophie and what she does. You and I have often talked about her views on the party, the revolution, and, ah—’

  Jackie smiled. ‘She is not a fan of mine.’

  ‘Or, as you well know, of me. What you won’t know is that she was approached by MI5 to work for them—’

  She pulled a face.

  ‘She refused,’ I hastily added. ‘But she said that it was obvious that they already had someone in position. I went to see my sister, and Emily was coming out of a meeting with her. I don’t think MI5 would have made such an approach to Sophie, unless they had someone who knew her and thought that there was some chance that she would agree. Emily had worked with my sister, and no doubt knew her views on the revolution. She passed on to her employers that she was a possible asset. So, we used that connection in reverse. Sophie called her MI5 contact number and told them that we knew who the killer was and that I was going to execute them. With, the, erm, misunderstanding about what happened in the Wiltshire affair, they would easily believe that. We expected them to make a call, and they did. Emily has just received one, which is obviously a warning that she has been uncovered and . . . um . . . is about to be 'executed' by yours truly.’

  Jackie closed her eyes and sighed. ‘They are going to go ballistic over this. You better be sure and make bloody certain that you get some more proof than you’ve got at the moment, because the AF are not going to like this one little bit.’

  ‘That’s why we didn’t tell you before. It gave you and the party have a get-out clause. You didn’t know what we were doing, nor did Glen. Indeed, we also had the pair of you under surveillance, so you could say that we had totally gone offline.’

  She opened her eyes, and her head sank back in shock. It wasn't great look. Not that I was going to mention that, not after announcing that we had been spying on her. Things had become a little frosty between us as of late, but I had no desire to herald an ice age.

  She thought for a second, processing the flow of information which was hitting her. She had once said, in her famous Lancaster speech, that, “revolutionaries spend most of their lives battling against the current, but they must have the ability to turn the oars at a moment's notice, use the flash flood to move along at unheard of speeds.” I remembered it well, because I had been there and had teased her afterwards on what the hell did she know about canoeing. She had laughed and said she had seen a late night documentary on BBC1. She was angling those oars now.

  Her head wound back, and she informed me that she was going to make a few quick calls, in her words, ‘to set the scene.’ She looked at her watch. It was getting near the time for her to make her speech. ‘What do you plan to do? I do not want a repeat of last time. Understand that, Pete?’

  I did. I reassured her that there would be none. ‘We’re just going to watch her.’

  ‘Okay, Pete, just that. Please. Don’t do anything more than that until you have spoken to me, because this is very delicate. I must emphasise that, Pete. I don’t want any drama. Just follow and observe. Anyway, I better go now. We will speak in an hour.’

  She hung up. I looked at Cole.

  Cole yelled and pointed. ‘There she is!’

  38. Nepenthes attenboroughii

  Seconds after finishing with Joseph, Cole was straight on the line to Glen Bale. Whilst they talked– or, more accurately, whilst Cole gave him his orders – I stared straight ahead, unscrambling the abstraction of swirling snow and reflected headlights, compensating for the fact that comrade Cole wasn’t giving driving her full attention.

  ‘Glen, Ash has just got in his car. It’s a blue Lexus C10 jeep; I’m sending his tracking tag. You need to join us and send us yours. Tailing someone is a lot easier when there is more than one car. With three of us, it will lessen the chance of being seen or losing her.’

  He didn’t sound chuffed at the idea. ‘Really? Shouldn’t we call on the local militia or, better still, issue a regional alert?’

  ‘Not possible. Both the party and the NWC channels are open. Messager will hear them. In any case, we haven’t got the time to contact anyone. She'll have an escape plan, so we have to get her before she starts it. The three of us are enough. Wh
at we need to know is where she is going right now. Once we know that, then we can organise something more professional.’

  Bless him. He tried to suggest alternatives, but it was fruitless. Cole cut him short, deciding that the decision had been made. She was now giving him an intensive lesson into trailing a suspect. The only thing he had a chance to say in nigh on three minutes was to sullenly inform her that he was at reception and was getting a car.

  ‘Good. Don’t hang about. Time is of the essence.’ She hung up and moaned, ‘Christ, this weather is shit!’

  I was glad that she had noticed.

  After flicking on the bad weather vision, she entered the description of Messager’s car into the car's computer. Stating the obvious, she explained that it would help us keep track of her, through what could now be possibly termed a blizzard. Satellite help was, she told me, unreliable, because we had once again been hacked. All networks were disrupted. Even satnav was up and down. Pure coincidence, she added. Not that I was thinking about that; I was just impressed that Bale had managed to get to say anything at all.

  ‘So, where do you think she’s going?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, she knows her cover has been blown. She thinks that you are pursuing her to kill her. I would guess that she has two options – go into hiding or flee the country. With this weather, flights are suspended, and I’d guess so are the ferries, so if she is to do a runner, it will be surely be through the Euro-Tunnel.’

  Before I had a chance to say anything, Joseph’s voice sounded through the car-phone. ‘Vic, I can see you, and I have Messager in view.’

  ‘Good, I’ll pull back.’

  I felt the car slow down and pull in behind a battered old Ford.

  Cole informed both me and Joseph that a blue Lexus had passed us. I could barely see the car, let alone the driver.

  Then Bale’s drone filled the air. He had got a car from the car pool and was now catching us.

  ‘You chose that?’ she snapped, after he had told her what he was in. She wasn’t impressed. Personally, I thought discussing the merits of different engines and power sources wasn’t quite what was required here. We could save that for car shows or something. Not when tailing a murderous spy in a blizzard.

  ‘It’s a snail, Bale!’ she spat.

  That had a snappy ring to it. I filed it away for future use.

  ‘It’s barely any quicker than Pete’s moped—’

  ‘Scooter!’ I yelled.

  She ignored me, and told him to sneak in behind us and be ready to take over from Joseph.

  We’d been travelling several minutes, and I could see that we were travelling through Whitechapel. Was our MI5 assassin going to hunker down in an East London trendy artist’s flat with hot and cold running fake Tiffany lamps?

  We stopped behind a slow-moving body of traffic. I looked in the wing-mirror to see if I could see Bale, but I had to peer just to see the bloody mirror. Even the dashboard screens weren’t much help. The car cams were struggling with the snow.

  ‘Where is she going?’

  ‘Don’t know. Any ideas, Glen? Ash?’

  Both replied that they hadn’t.

  I explored the options. ‘She can head northward to Islington, head hard south and cross the river or carry onto Southwark. Then again, she could double back. Or she could—’

  Bale cut me short. ‘So, in other words, you haven’t a clue either. It could be anywhere.’

  We all sat in silence as we carefully drove along, wondering where Messager was going and what she was planning.

  Joseph’s deep voice disturbed the inertia. ‘She’s taking a left. I think she is heading for the river.’

  ‘Maybe she’s heading for Somerset House, and wants to visit the Courtauld Gallery,’ I quipped. ‘She wants to drop into our office and see what we’ve got, or maybe she just fancies a gander at the art.’

  Cole ignored me. As did Joseph. As did Bale. I stared ahead, pretending not to regret such a childish comment. The silence was broken, when Joseph informed us, ‘Well, Pete, she's passing Somerset House’.

  Overtaking a very brave, or maybe stupid, motorcyclist who was ploughing through the snow, Cole asked nobody in particular, ‘Why is she heading into town? Surely, it would make sense to leave it?’

  I shrugged, feeling it was probably wiser not to say anything resembling wit. And I hadn’t any type of sensible answer.

  ‘Glen, can you hear me?’ Cole asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ he replied, sounding as if he wished that he couldn’t.

  Joseph interrupted him. ‘She’s taking a hard right towards Trafalgar Square.’

  I noted that he still used the old name for the square, but again kept quiet. The politics of place names had long been put to bed. More pressing was still the same question: where was she going?

  ‘Okay, I can see you, Glen. Now, when you can overtake me and then Asher? As we’re doing barely twenty five KPH, it won’t be too difficult. Watch for oncoming traffic, though. Get yourself no nearer than two cars. Follow Messager for five or ten minutes, and then we’ll take over.’

  Asher’s voice came on. ‘We’re on the same road, Glen, about a dozen cars ahead of Vic.’

  His response wasn’t what you might describe as being positive. Instead, he fired off questions which indicated to me very strongly that Cole’s lesson in following suspects had missed a few points. She’d have to refine it a bit next time. He was clearly feeling the pressure, because this wasn’t the Glen Bale I had known all these years – confident, assertive and clear in his own mind of what he was to do. Here, he sounded like a worried school boy. But then he, like me, was an amateur. Judging by how I was gripping the door handle, I was feeling nervous too. And it wasn’t just because of the weather.

  ‘Just do it, Glen!’ she snapped.

  Cole's patience needed working on.

  ‘Stop worrying and take over from Ash. But don’t get too close!’

  She watched a blob pass us, which presumably was a car containing an unhappy Bale.

  Our bizarre procession continued to move forward, Messager being the lead of the drive of the penguins. We were now in the Mall, heading towards Buckingham Palace, the relic of a royal Imperial power. They'd long since gone, so Emily Messager couldn’t be going for tea and a damehood. I wondered if MI5 had secret offices there. Certainly, where she was going didn't appear to be a particularly quick escape route.

  ‘In position,’ Bale announced, imitating the tone he’d heard the FBI agents use from the TV shows of his youth. ‘I have her in sight. She is taking a right turn down Freedom Avenue.’ He was getting more detective noir by the second. He’d have a New Jersey accent soon.

  ‘Okay, now, Ash, we won’t overtake you until we’re off the Mall. Then we’ll be behind Glen, ready to take over from him. Your basic linear tailing. In this weather and with sat down, we can’t risk anything more.’

  ‘You think she hasn't seen us, Vic?’ Joseph asked. ‘Surely, she'd be on the lookout.’

  ‘Possibly, but we don't have a choice.’

  Stopping in the middle of the road, Cole looked through front and side windows, as well as the monitor, and then before the car had a chance to tell her it was safe to turn, she did so. A swift press of the accelerator got us across the road before an oncoming car. Even so, we had dropped a little behind.

  Two minutes later, the distance increased when a van screeched, wheels spinning, out of a side road, cutting us off. Cole broke hard and swore even harder. The air turned bluer when our van in a hurry appeared to have stopped suddenly for no apparent reason.

  ‘What the—?’

  Looking at the sensors, she urgently tried to see a way around it. But a lorry had followed us and had been forced to brake hard, barely avoiding hitting us. It now loomed over us like a giant from an animation series. We appeared to be trapped.

  ‘Ash,’ she said to the phone, ‘we’re hemmed in at the moment. You two keep it going and we’ll catch up. Help Glen. He’s new to this.
’

  ‘She’s indicating to turn left,’ Bale told us, now sounding like a rather dull, depressed satnav.

  Joseph reassured her that he would help out baby Bale and told Bale himself that he could see him and was just a car behind. This allowed Victoria to return to cursing the van in front. This was spiced up by repeatedly slapping the horn button.

  ‘Following discretely, then,’ I muttered.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, get out the way!’ she screamed.

  Fearing that if I heard many more expletives my innocence would be lost, I opened the door. Wind and snow all but whipped it out of my hands.

  ‘I’m going to see what’s the matter,’ I told her.

  ‘Be careful!’ she yelled.

  It was only as I passed our headlights that I realised what she had meant. This might not be a coincidence. It might be deliberate, and our van driver might be one of Emily’s mates.

  Despite being in the middle of the road and it being almost impossible to see with the snow increasing in intensity, I slapped a NWC ID band on my arm and took out my gun. I stared ahead, trying to pick out the lights of the oncoming traffic. Pressed against the car, I inched forward. We were only a few metres from the van, but my face felt red raw by the time I reached the cab. Nothing was in front of the van, so it was obvious that the reason for our delay was solely down to it. Gripping the gun tighter, but fearing that I might have to use it, I held it out of view and knocked at the side window. Peering in, I could see a middle-aged white guy in overalls. He obviously hadn’t heard me, as he didn’t even look up, but instead was frantically pressing the ignition and pumping the clutch. I knocked again, only harder, because if I stayed out there much longer I’d become a bloody snowman. All I’d need was a carrot. Still not getting a reply, I banged my fist and tried out a few of the words Cole was still using.