“If I can drag you away from your sick obsession.”, Carrington said, “You might be interested in this little lot. Besides, I need the computer.”
They swapped places on the small dinette sofas and Carrington tapped at keys whilst Gregory looked over the papers he’d been given.
“There!”, Carrington exclaimed triumphantly, “There’s the link. Look.”
He turned the laptop so Gregory could see it and pointed to a sector on the image of the clock-face graphic that was there point of reference. He clicked on the sector labelled ‘Judiciary’ and it opened to reveal a list of names.
“Remember how I couldn’t understand that there was no police link?”, he asked rhetorically, “Well, that led me to the other angle of looking at prisoners. Easy to get the data as it’s all public. Not so easy to correlate the links. But look, several Judges, as expected, all of them feeding into that list of prisoners that I’ve given you.”
“I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”, Gregory said.
“Bear with me. Judges sentence, yes? But they don’t allocate prison cells. That’s the sort of thing that this lady might be more adept at. Look, the missing link. Caroline Markham, senior advisor to the Home Office and charged with managing prison populations. Why else has the algorithm thrown her name up? It’s a leap of faith but not a great big one to put two and two together and see that she could be the one who put those individuals that we have listed in separate prisons. They are the infected ones. It can’t be anything else.”
Gregory took some time to check the list and make a number of random tests that all pointed to Carrington being correct in his assumption.
“But surely,”, he struggled to think of what to say, “you’re not saying that the people we’re pursuing, The Circle, or it’s remnants, are behind this?”
“We’ve already seen the link with The New Progressives. Now, this data. You want to come up with a better theory?
“No. I get it. But can we use this information?”
“You mean, to try and save the prisoners?”, Carrington clicked at the keyboard, “I don’t think so.”
They looked at the bars and realised that the public mood was one of pure self-preservation. The ‘Save’ bar had struggled to register any movement. The ‘Sacrifice’ bar almost filled the screen.
“It’s the perfect crime.”, Carrington whispered, “You give the choice to act to someone else. It’s hideous, it’s wrong and it’s evil, but, you have to admire it in a way. So, no, I think we’re too late to stop the inevitable. But that doesn’t mean we’re powerless to do anything. I need you to make some calls. Meanwhile, I’ll tidy this mass of data into something more legible.”
“Who do you want me to call?”
“I think it’s time we used Dexter’s lifeline.”
“I’ll dig out the details.”, Gregory replied, “I just hope the line’s still open.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
In an age of instant news and immediate-response social media, there was little that anyone could do to prevent the individual postings detailing the events that followed the deadline set by Forward Action. Those who were unable to witness things first hand were able to traverse the country and view what was happening in and around prisons as far apart as Devon and Inverness. Nothing could be kept secret anymore. Nothing could be hidden. For that reason, at 2 a.m. on the day following the transmission that none could ever forget, the Prime Minister addressed the nation. All eyes were glued to screens in homes, offices, hotels, factories and bars as a nation reluctant to succumb to sleep craved knowledge.
“Fellow citizens.”, Martin Roper began, his face drawn and weary, his eyes red from tears, “This is the darkest night our nation has ever known. This is a night like no other, a night of pure evil and a night of collective and may I say, very personal pain. I would give anything to not have to address you as I now do, but you deserve to know the truth and I promise to speak to you honestly and openly.”
Pausing only to wipe away a tear and look briefly at the hastily scribbled speech that was before him, the Prime Minister continued.
“As you are all aware, our nation was held to ransom last night. We were given an ultimatum like no other and very little time to act. As your Prime Minister, I had to make decisions that I must live with for the rest of my life. My friends and colleagues in the opposition parties, as well as my own, were consulted in full. The Cabinet, having canvassed your local Members of Parliament, presented all the facts necessary, and a decision was reached. You, yourselves, were also asked to make a choice. Although, in reality, there was no choice to make.”
“At one o’clock this morning,”, he resumed after a brief pause, “I gave the order that every prison in the country be cleansed of a virus that we had confirmed as being both very real and very potent. Much as I struggle to find words at this time, I must inform you all that those prisons were razed to the ground by army units using high-powered incendiary devices. And yes, the prison population within those walls lost their lives as a part of that process. As I speak now, every prisoner, male, female, young and old, has had to sacrifice their life to save the rest of us. The threat posed by The New Progressives, hiding behind the cowardly flag of Forward Action was as real as they said it was.
Prior to making the decision that I made, numerous volunteers from the scientific community, the church, the police and fire services and other public bodies, willingly offered to enter a number of prisons to assess the threat. Each one confirmed the same. And, let it be remembered, that each one of those individuals also gave their lives. They provided us with the information that we needed and they confirmed that the synthesised virus, designed to emulate a combination of other compounds including smallpox, anthrax and sarin, must be neutralised. In providing that information, they sacrificed their own lives. They are the heroes of the hour and each will be posthumously awarded the highest honours this country can bestow on them.”
Pausing again to take a drink of water and compose himself after another bout of weeping, Roper’s voice broke often as he resumed.
“Whilst the decision that I was forced to take was, in many respects, a collective decision, I take full responsibility for that decision and will face whatever consequences that arise from it. I believe that it was the right decision. It was a decision that followed the will of my parliamentary colleagues and of you, the public. But, when everything settles down again, I stand awaiting judgement for that decision and know that the final order came from me. Please, pillory me, pity me, judge me as you like, but know that the pain I feel just now is deeper than any I have ever experienced.”
“The decision to act was ultimately mine. The real threat however, is from The New Progressives, their activist wing of Forward Action and their evil doctrines. It would be easy to call for a calm and measured response to what has happened. It would be simple for me to tell you that we shall ensure that the perpetrators of this act are bought to justice. But, that is not enough. We must fight fire with fire and I will not brook any gentle or liberal approach to our national response. For that reason, I too have organised a website where you, the people of our great nation, can vote on my proposed response. Firstly, for the perpetrators of this heinous act, I am asking you to support me in a reintroduction of the death penalty for everybody responsible. We will track those people down and we will execute them in public. Secondly, I am asking you to support me in a temporary measure that has arisen out of this situation. At a time of such unimaginable destruction as we see just now, there will be those who might seek to take advantage of the situation; those who feel justified in using this event for their own means, to loot, to profiteer, to act out their violent urges. I am asking you to also vote on a two-week period of martial law. We have no prisons. We are all in a state of shock and lack the resources to act as we normally would against crime. If agreed, I propose that the army be authorised to n
eutralise the threat of any criminal behaviour, acting, of course, with your support.”
“This is a night that none of us could ever imagine happening,”, he concluded, “and I lay down my life before you in service, asking that whether you agree with my choice or not, you understand that I acted in what I believed was the correct way. Judge me as you will, but please, pray for me too and for this great nation of ours. Thank you.”
The idea for the web-vote was taken directly from Forward Action. Within hours of the Prime Minister’s speech, public opinion was as clear on the proposals now being offered as it had been on the choice that they’d been asked to make previously. In the first vote, ninety-five percent of those who voted had demanded that the prisoners be sacrificed. On early indications, it looked likely that that same sort of majority would hold sway for both the temporary death penalty and the security of martial law. Numerous reports were already coming in of localised vigilante actions. Laudable though they may have been, those responses were not sustainable over time. Roper had the mood of the nation just right. His personal ratings reached record levels, even after he’d ordered the deaths of 86,221 people.
Watching the early-morning proceedings unfold, Detective Inspector Dan Walker was feeling both disappointed and confused. Off-duty on the previous night, he’d watched the Forward Action broadcast and followed it by drinking enough coffee to sober him up for a return to work that he knew was inevitable. As soon as he felt steady enough on his feet, he checked his standard-issue weapon, loaded it and clipped it into its holster. He was about to leave when curiosity got the better of him and he booted up his computer to check the progress of the Save or Sacrifice website. He placed his own vote, fully aware of what it would mean, and was just closing the site down when he saw the e-mail icon flashing. He didn’t receive many personal e-mails. Not to that computer anyway. Whatever it was, it was likely to be worth looking at. He was glad that he did. The attachment was dynamite. All he had to do now was share it with the right people.
The journey to the newly-designed Metropolitan Police headquarters that had replaced New Scotland Yard was, thankfully, a brief one. It only involved a couple of stops on the tube, the trains of which were abuzz with the chatter of the excited and opinionated, all of whom were rushing home to place their own votes. The mood should have been sombre and thoughtful. Strangely, it seemed more vengeful and purgative. Prisoners were fair game. If this was a self-preservation thing then it was a no-brainer. Nobody thought about the people involved as people. They were the others, the transgressors, and a worthy sacrifice.
“Commander,”, Walker burst into the operations room where every senior Met officer was assembled, “I need to see you urgently. Believe me, this could be a game changer.”
“Detective,”, Commander Janice Gould gave him a cold and threatening stare, “you’d better hope that it is. My office, now.”
He followed her into the private room that adjoined the command centre and stood as she settled behind her desk.
“This is the worst night of my life,”, she sighed, “so please, don’t make it more difficult for me. You’ve got two minutes. Talk to me.”
He showed her the printouts that he’d downloaded and explained a little about their provenance. It didn’t take him the full two minutes as there was little else he could, or would, share with her.
“We don’t have time to check these individually.”, Gould held the paper up, “So, tell me, how confident are you in your source? I should be thanking you and kicking you out by now, but we’re desperate for anything. Tell me honestly Detective. Would you stake your career on this?”
He confirmed that he would. Dave was an enigma to him, a man he’d never met and, to all intent and purpose, a veritable ghost. But he gave accurate information. He had provided names in the past and all had proved invaluable. He and Dave went back a long way. It was Walker who’d taken the knife that had been intended for his colleague and it was Dave who never forgot that. Yes, he was confident in the data. Yes, he would stake his reputation on it.
He’d been sent out onto the streets after seeing the Commander. He felt that he’d done his bit in providing the evidence he had and was happy to be back with his colleagues on the front-line as they cleared the area around Holloway. There was some panic amongst local residents and a great deal of fear. Some had even begun to pack their belongings in small suitcases and leave their homes, despite there being no logic in such an exodus: if the virus escaped the prison walls, there was nowhere to run to. When the soldiers arrived, along with their heavy ordnance, most people retreated indoors. By the time that the prison was destroyed, only a few faces peered out of windows. He stayed until the fires were damped and then returned to the Yard.
That was when the doubt and confusion really settled in. He knew that the information he’d provided hadn’t been of any use. It was a detailed list of suspects, one in every prison in the country, identifying them as the carriers of the virus. Holloway would still be standing if they’d acted on that list. Surely, it was possible to isolate one individual and neutralise them? He was disappointed not to have been able to make the contribution he had. What followed, simply added anger to his mix of negative feelings.
“Walker.”, he was beckoned to his immediate line-manager’s office as soon as he walked through the main entrance.
“Sir?”
“Come with me.”, he was told, “We need to talk.”
They retreated to a newly-built interview room that Walker knew to have been designed to allow no eavesdropping. Its interior was sparse and the furniture it contained consisted of no more than a steel table flanked by plastic chairs.
“What did you say to Commander Gould?”, there was no time for preliminary chatter.
Walker told him about the list.
“And that was it?”
“That was all Sir.”, Walker explained, “Then I went out onto the streets. Why?”
“With the clock ticking, Commander Gould seems to have become more desperate,”, he was told, “and she seems to have given your information some credence. We don’t know who else she passed the details onto. Whoever she did inform stands way above our pay-grade or security clearance that’s for sure. But we do know that she chose to act.
“To act?”
“She took herself off to the Scrubs. Suited up in anti-contamination gear and latched onto the team that were in there already trying to identify the source of the virus. That was the last we heard of her. Whatever she was trying to prove, it didn’t work out. She was incinerated along with the rest when the place went up.”
“She’s dead?”, Walker couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Dead and gone.”, the cold reply, “Maybe as a result of your list. We need to know everything about it and we need you to stay here whilst your home is searched. I trust that you will co-operate?”
“Whatever it takes,”, Walker sighed, “I just thought I was doing my bit. I don’t know why the list was sent to me. Guess it was all too late.”
They let him loose in the building, allowing him to feed himself in the canteen and tidy himself up in the bathrooms. Whilst he slept in an empty cell, they pulled his house apart. They found nothing, of course. Dave remained invisible and there was no tangible link to Nathan Carrington along the numerous pathways that the file had taken before landing in Walker’s inbox.
What he really couldn’t understand though, was why nothing else seemed to have happened and why Gould had taken it upon herself to test the data. Surely, she’d have passed it on along the chain? And if she did, why had nothing happened?
The mystery that surrounded the list he’d been e-mailed went beyond understanding. What Walker could never know about that list was the people who were its foundation. They were the people that provided the hidden links that generated the list of prisoners and they were a diverse group. They were the judges and the Home
office officials, and they were the anonymous small players who had done their bit for the wider cause. They were also the missing. Purging the scene by fire had allowed for the possibility of a further purge of the weakest links in the chain. Their culpability could never be proven. That the list existed, was enough for certain people to assume their guilt. They made up many of the ‘volunteers’ sent into prisons who never made it out. All of that, of course, would remain an untold story.
Chapter Forty-Nine
The response of the nation’s combined security services was almost unbelievably prompt and effective. By Monday lunchtime, as Philian Gregory and Nathan Carrington arrived at the venue where they’d arranged to meet Bob Dexter, every member of The New Progressives and anyone even remotely linked to Forward Action, along with an assortment of other individuals who were a part of the prison plot, had been rounded up and shown on live television. There were more than a hundred of them. Though innocent under the law, their confessions were proof enough of their guilt and the public demand for their prompt execution reached fever pitch. They were male, female, white, black, young, old, and all points in-between. They were respectable people. They were everybody’s neighbour or work colleague. Individually, they were also all known to Carrington and Gregory. That much they established as the scrolling list of names was ticked off against their own records.
“No coincidence there then?”, Gregory sighed, “Seems we were onto something. Not sure what it means for us just now though.”
“It vindicates us, to a degree.”, Carrington replied, “And confirms what we were beginning to suspect already. The Circle, what was left of it, has morphed into other forms. The New Progressives, Forward Action, both linked in numerous ways to The Circle. A shift from their working out their corrupt ideals on young children into their turning those ideals against a new enemy.”
Philian Gregory Page 40
