by John Mayer
Only Nadia Suilleman didn’t understand the reference to turning one’s coat at the last minute to give evidence in court for the Queen or at least the Prosecution; but McLane soon put her right.
‘The fires were raging hot. So hot that some people had to move away from them.’
The two medics locked eyes and slowly began to nod in unison. When she reached into her pocket for her phone, Nadia Suilleman nearly cursed. Her phone was in a plastic box with everyone else’s being watched over by old Jimmy Robertson, who was somewhere well above them in Parliament House. Seeing her excitement, McLane asked:
‘What is it Nadia? You’ve got it, haven’t you?’
~~~o~~~
Chapter 36
Out under a dark cloudy sky, in Parliament Square every TV News channel in the country had at least two reporters feeding back facts and circumstances about this epidemic; and when they ran out of those, pure speculation would suffice until some official word came out from the National Security Council sitting below their feet in the third basement of Parliament House. Every old cobbled stone in the square was covered by a van, an aluminium or black plastic flight case, a tripod, miles of cables or the boots and shoes of those making sure their mics were working and their faces weren’t shining in some other companies’ arc lights.
At the double front doors, looking through the crack he was keeping between the two doors with his toe, old Jimmy Robertson had his right hand on the long brass handle while in his left he held a folded piece of paper bearing the crest of the Advocates' Library. They’d only been down there just over half an hour when he spotted the Deputy NSC emerging from around the corner. Widening his eyes, old Jimmy was silently asking her if the meeting was over. Maisie’s single nod was his reply.
Holding a wide oval silver tray containing phones, watches and everything else which had required to be left upstairs, an astute servitor took a step into the corridor. Seeing the other members emerge, old Jimmy was just about to pull open the door when the group stopped in mid stride and went into a huddle. Commander Imrie didn’t seem to be as involved as the others and it was Sir Isaac who was explaining something to the chairman. When both medics and McLane began nodding in harmony, old Jimmy gave the nod to the police sergeant who was in charge of keeping a corridor free to allow the NSC to get over to the wide stone steps leading up to St Giles’ cathedral. From there they could make their announcement to the world.
Behind the press and TV crowd, no-one had noticed the big Mercedes Wagon skid to a stop on the wet cobbles of Edinburgh’s Royal Mile or bothered very much with its sole occupant who’d jumped out leaving the driver’s door wide open and was now barging his way through the crowd of press and TV people. Standing head and shoulders above most of them, he was now at the front of the pack, flinging his head around wildly; as though cornered by hungry lions.
Two of old Jimmy’s men stood ready with four umbrellas opened against the driving rain now coming down at about forty-five degrees from the western sky. Taking half a minute to allow the police outside to deal with the crush which had narrowed their corridor, just inside Parliament House the NSC stood stoney-faced in a single line behind the chairman. Glancing outside, when he saw the police make an arrest, old Jimmy knew that might take a minute or two and grabbed his chance. Closing the door, he slipped the fingers of his left hand into his waistcoat pocket. Reaching out, he presented the folded note:
‘This came a wee bit earlier for you, sir. It’s not internal Parliament House. It’s from another House. So I thought you’d want to see it.’
‘The House of Commons, Jimmy?’
‘No, sir. The House of Lords.’
McLane glanced at the note but in this moment of tension, it didn’t seem important. Slipping the note into his own waistcoat pocket, McLane turned to his team:
‘Ready? Here we go.’
The arc lights were instantly dazzling causing all members of the NSC to shield their eyes. McLane had his head bowed and so didn’t even see the big man fling himself forward. Feeling those arms and the power of that body pressing close to his, McLane’s momentary fear that he’d been attacked ebbed away. However, the ranks of police didn’t know what he knew. Lunging at this man who, in front of the world’s cameras, was attacking the chairman of the Scottish National Security Council, amongst a cacophony of screaming and bawling, about five officers soon had him handcuffed on the ground; kneeling on his back.
Chaos then ensued as McLane hauled at two officers and in so doing put himself in danger of being arrested. Old Jimmy Robertson was on the verge of pressing the Parliament House ‘Red Alert’ button when Commander Imrie thought he knew what was happening and gripped old Jimmy’s arm. Imrie waved at the police sergeant to call off his officers and some semblance of peace broke out.
Now that it was obvious that this wasn’t an attack but some sort of emergency, the police unlocked the handcuffs and helped the big man stand. Shrugging off a few hands that had come to his aid, McLane stepped forward and embraced this mountain of a man who was now standing in front of him in floods of tears. With dozens of cameras on him, Big Joe Mularkey reached out and pulled McLane in tight. When he’d whispered something into McLane ear and the men broke their embrace to look each other in the face, McLane’s welling tears too were broadcast to the world.
For several seconds, their faces so close that they sometimes touched, they stood tearful, whispering into each other’s ears and nodding. After a few more tight hugs and being afforded a little space to themselves, McLane turned to Nadia Suilleman who was on her phone, standing just behind old Jimmy Robertson.
At the top of the steps up to St Giles’, McLane leaned himself half behind Sir Isaac, kept his head down and was seen to rub his eyes several times. After adjusting the mic stand to her height, it now fell to the Chief Medical Officer to make the announcement. Speaking ex tempore, her calm cultured voice with its soft allusions to the language of her Persian ancestors was the perfect antidote to the scuffles and unseemly events of just a few moments ago:
‘Good afternoon. I am Professor Nadia Suilleman, the Chief Medical Officer for Scotland. With me is Professor Sir Isaac Neuberger who is Professor of Epidemiology in the University of Oxford. In addition, we have Police Commander Imrie who is NSC-police liaison. Also of course, at the back there is National Security Commissioner, Baron McLane of Calton.
I am now officially declaring the recent events which arose in the Calton area of Glasgow to be an epidemic. There is of course a standard national Protocol which is being implemented throughout Scotland as we speak. However, in the special circumstances of this case, we have decided that certain extra measures are required. Those are the following:
Firstly, that the building known as the Old Meat Market in the Calton in Glasgow, be burned to the ground as soon as arrangements with the Glasgow Fire Service can be finalised.’
Instantly a flurry of questions were shouted up at the NSC. ‘What caused this outbreak? Who owns the Old Meat Market? Are they responsible for this outbreak?’
Holding up her hand to quell the flood, the Chief Medical Officer continued:
‘We think, subject to final laboratory clarification, that the carriers of the virus were birds which migrate between West Africa and these premises. These birds often die on the premises and are eaten by rats. The rats spread their droppings, mostly on the rafters and upper wooden structures of this old building and we think the virus remained above the breathing level of the population until, at a recent meeting of the Calton Residents' Association, four large braziers were used to warm the people attending. The heat was intense and must have risen to roof level. There the radiated hot air from below acted like a fan and wafted some dry matter into the air. That contaminated air was breathed by those who sadly died or have suffered respiratory lung damage.’
Ignoring another barrage of questions and flash photography, she continued:
‘Now, we cannot be certain of the extent of the coverage of this virus. What we do know
is that if any contaminated material was blown out of the building by the hot air, then the sudden drop in temperature outside would've killed the virus. But not before it had travelled a short distance on the night air. Therefore, as a security measure, we are ordering that the three streets of tenement buildings which surround the Old Meat Market - we estimate that to be around two hundred homes in Cochrane street, Gloucester street and Hoey street - be burned out and demolished as soon as the Fire Service has completed burning down the Meat Market.’
Any person who feels they have begun to cough or wheeze in a way they haven’t done before, should call the Helpline number which is being shown at the bottom of your screens. We take this matter very seriously indeed and assure the public that everything that needs to be …’
At the back of the group, sure that the focus was firmly on Nadia, McLane decided to answer the caller from London who’d tried him eight times since he got his phone back. Sure that he wasn’t interrupting Nadia, he pressed the green button:
‘McLane! McLane! Is that you?’
‘Yes. Mayfield? Is that you?’
‘Yes. McLane. We have an emergency down here.’
Shaking his head, to McLane the Machiavellian ways of political manoeuvring in London were the last thing on his mind: ‘Look, you may not know it, but we’ve got an epidemic of devastating proportions going on up here. In the Calton, no less. My aunt Bella … sorry … she .. died in this. So I’m sorry Mayfield, but I haven’t got time to help you with a vote or whatever House business you think is important. I’m sorry but there it is.’
On the other end, Mayfield now felt sorry for pestering a man in grief. However, his purpose was an urgent one: ‘McLane! Listen, damn it! I’m sorry for your loss but you have to listen to me. Now do I have your attention?’
Taking a step back under the arch of the cathedral door, McLane half turned and pressed the phone closer into his ear: ‘Yes, alright. Go ahead. What is it that’s so important?’
~~~o~~~
Chapter 37
With a tap of his gavel, the Speaker of the House of Commons called ‘Order! Order!’ to the only two Members of Parliament left in the Chamber; one of whom for the last ten minutes had been slumped against the end of his bench and appeared to be asleep. The other Member stood and bowed back to Mister Speaker, who ignored the sleeping Member and left the Chamber after a long arduous day.
At the square table below the Speaker’s Chair, the one remaining legal adviser took off his wig and gown, yawned and reached out his arms to stretch his shoulders and back. For most of the day, there had been three legal advisers at the table. After Prime Minister’s Question Time, there was always a flurry of House activity as Members vied for attention trying to get some mischief in their own constituency onto the PM’s subordinate list. Always though, by the late afternoon things would cool off as Members bowed and left to catch their planes and trains leaving fewer and fewer Members in the Chamber; until only the proposer of some Private Member’s Bill remained. There might also be a Member or two who’d fallen asleep. They’d be woken by Security and sent home via the Clerk of Recording’s office where he or she would ensure they put in their day’s Attendance Pay sheet.
Before leaving for the night, the House legal adviser had but one thing left to do: fill out the details of the Private Member’s Bill which had just passed the House. This was an easy one: a one-word Bill applying only to Scotland on some technical issue to do with local Councils. There had been no debate and no-one in the Chamber to oppose it. So the thing had passed in under five minutes. Picking up the applicable Act to be amended, he copied the title into the Amendment Sheet.
‘Scottish Local Government (Miscellaneous Provisions) Act 1879: the Act to be amended as follows - in Section 62 subsection (1) para (iii) the word ‘one’ shall be deleted and replaced therein with the word ‘ten’.’
In the ‘other place’ the Lord Chancellor’s Deputy had long been replaced by a very subordinate Acting Deputy who now sat on the woolsack ticking off the day’s debates which had been completed, adjourned or abandoned. Their lordships’ Chamber too had been emptying all day until only five now remained. With more of a tap on the door than a slam with Black Rod, the Commons’ servitor stood out in the quiet corridor holding out a blue velvet cushion at chest height. Casually opening the door, the Lords’ servitor nodded a cheery greeting to his subordinate colleague and transferred the few papers on the cushion onto his own red one.
With no announcement, the servitor took the papers to the woolsack and laid them on the table. With a mere nod of acknowledgement, the Acting Deputy stood, looked at the very few Members in the Chamber and announced:
‘Hear Ye! Hear Ye! My lords, this Bill comes from another place. It has Passed their House and arrives for your lordships’ consideration. The Act to be amended is the Scottish Local Government (Miscellaneous Provisions) Act 1879: the proposal is for the Act to be amended as follows - in Section 62 subsection (1) para (iii) the word ‘one’ shall be deleted and replaced therein with the word ‘ten’.’
He had almost scribbled the words ‘Passed the House without Debate’ when a Member stood and coughed. In the quiet stillness of the Chamber, the gentle snoring of one very elderly Member was enough of a barrier between the Member’s cough and the acting Deputy’s ear. Seeing that the nib of the pen was about to touch the paper, the Member called out:
‘Hold fast, I say. I wish to debate and may amend this Bill from the other place.’
Looking up, the Acting Deputy couldn’t believe his ears. What could there possibly be to debate? Why would anyone want to amend a Scottish Local Government Bill which just changed a phrase from one thousand square yards to ten thousand square yards? But the Call was within the House Rules and accordingly had to be afforded proper procedure. As the poor man slumped down into the woolsack, he knew from long weary experience that his wife would understand his lateness.
Looking up at the almost empty rows of buttoned green leather and polished wooden benches, into a virtually empty House of Lords, he called:
‘I recognise Lord Mayfield.’
Standing and buttoning his jacket, Lord Mayfield dropped his eyelids and bowed a mere quarter of an inch to the woolsack. On the Opposition Benches, only four Members sat waiting to hear what sort of objection this might be:
‘My lords. I rise to speak, not with my own voice, but I carry the proxy of Baron McLane of Calton who wishes to object to this Bill. My lords, this change to a late nineteenth century law may seem like a mere technicality, but it having already Passed in the other place, if it Passes this House, would vastly increase the discretion which local Councils have to demolish communities which have been tightly bound for over a hundred years. And in one case in which I have personal knowledge, considerably more than a hundred years. Now before setting out my legal objection, I wish to read the entire Scottish Local Government (Miscellaneous Provisions) Act of 1879.’
At that, one snow-white haired Member on the Opposition Bench rose with a sigh and holding his painful hip, bowed to the woolsack and left the Chamber. But another, who was sitting facing the East with his feet spread at ninety degrees, seemed to the Acting Deputy to be keenly interested in the passage of this technical Scottish Bill. Before Lord Mayfield had reached Section Two of the 1879 Act, this Member rose, bowed to the woolsack and coughed; which was enough to draw attention to himself:
‘My lords, I know my noble and learned friend Lord Mayfield very well. He is a man of deep integrity with long experience and knowledge of the Rules of this House. By contrast, Baron McLane of Calton may be rather less familiar with our ancient ways. My lords, my objection to the use of his proxy arises because although it is well known to us that we may not speak on any issue in which we have a personal interest, it seems not to be known to the noble and learned Baron. In particular, I object because it is well known in Glasgow that the City Council has issued an Order for demolition of an area known as the Calton. The noble and le
arned Baron has, to my certain knowledge, an aunt who lives in the Calton and whose rent is paid by the noble and learned Baron McLane. That is a personal interest which bars the noble and learned Baron from participation in this debate. If that proxy is all that my noble and learned friend Lord Mayfield has in his armoury, then I say we proceed to a vote. I see three and myself on this side of the House but only himself on the other side. We wholeheartedly support this Bill and were consulted by a senior official of Glasgow City Council before it was drafted. We are the majority tonight and therefore the Bill must pass.’
Taking his seat, the Member was putting his day’s papers into an old worn leather bag when to his surprise Lord Mayfield responded:
‘My lords, it is with deep regret that I have to inform the House that the aunt to whom my noble and learned friend refers sadly passed away yesterday as a casualty of the epidemic which has recently hit that part of Glasgow known as the Calton. Accordingly, the barrier to which my noble and learned friend refers, sadly no longer exists. Baron McLane is accordingly entitled to have his say, by way of proxy, on this Bill. Now, as I was saying, Section Two of the 1879 Act goes on to provide …’
With the objecting Member opposite staying silent, implying that his objection was withdrawn, the Acting Deputy on the woolsack had heard enough. It was with the slightest tap of the gavel that he interrupted Lord Mayfield:
‘Hear Ye. Hear Ye all. I now rule that the proposal to amend the said 1879 Act be postponed. I shall send the Bill before the House to the Keeper of the Rolls for Debate with an order to set a date for further hearing of this debate; which date shall be not later than six months from today. The House shall rise.’
~~~o~~~
Chapter 38
Mumbling to himself as he moped around the one bedroom house, the man whom everyone said rivalled Big Joe Mularkey for strength, McLane for cunning and both of them for loyalty to his blood brothers in the Calton Bar, stopped at the old cracked mirror hanging on the living room wall and bit his lip. A single tear dropped from his eye. On the television they’d used the word ‘caused’ a million times and as the death toll rose from three to five, then from nine to eleven and finally to twenty six, that word took more and more control of his mind until it was his only locked and loaded thought.
