Philian Gregory

by Simon J. Stephens

  “The destruction of the prisons?”, Carrington asked.

  “All my own work!”, Roper laughed, “And did you see how my ratings jumped? But you forget Reforgin. What do you make of that?”

  “You put that one together?”

  “Brilliant, wasn’t it? I kept myself distanced, for obvious reasons. It all looks like a terrible accident, but no, it was a cull. And the beauty of it is that it proves that what we are doing is right. My ratings are up, those left behind are better off and the nation’s finances are beginning to recover. The Second World War left us with a settlement that shifted the balance far too far in the wrong direction. Instead of people simply being grateful that they’d survived, they now wanted something in return. Bizarre, isn’t it? The more we shift to a Godless society, the greater emphasis we place on the so-called sanctity of life. So, along comes the health service and pensions and a raft of other social benefits. All costed out soundly at first and potentially beneficial to society, but none of their effects could be predicted. The old refused to die. The health service became more than just a safety net. It taught people a level of dependence that they’d never understood before and its momentum is gaining. We culled the useless elderly. Were we doing anyone any harm? No, of course not. Do you want to exist as a dependent vegetable? In doing so, we put money back in the pockets of the younger generation. Whether you like it or not, human nature is very predictable. And very selfish. Great ideals soon evaporate when personal gain is involved.”

  “But who decides who dies?”, Gregory asked.

  “The numbers. Always and only the numbers. Value given against value taken. You should remember, we were running out of money. The NHS is a bottomless pit, the welfare system is out of control and the culture of self has so corrupted certain individuals that dependency becomes a right and not a privilege. We’ve shifted from being a majority democracy into a minority dictatorship. The many are financing the few. But now, that’s all changed. The phones will take out more who can’t live without artificial help, the game shows will promote a new culture of fairness, and that’s just a start. One by one, we’ll assess every individual’s value, their input and output, and when they start taking more than they’ve given, it will be time to say goodbye. You see? Survival of the fittest.”

  “Indulge me,”, Carrington sighed, “but I couldn’t get the phone thing. Their technical specification is faultless. What’s the deal there?”

  “It rests with this little baby.”, Roper pulled a small box out of his jacket pocket, “The phones do just what they say and are perfectly safe. That is, until I key in a command code and the chips transform into something different. Safe frequencies change to those that stop electronic pacemakers and other devices.”

  “But the maths doesn’t work in that.”, Carrington leaned forward, momentarily forgetting his situation and seeking the answers that his curious mind demanded, “Numerous pacemaker wearers are productive citizens. They’re not as helpless as dementia sufferers.”

  “I agree.”, Roper conceded with a sigh, “It’s not perfect. So much of this is new to me and we’ll get better as we progress. Nevertheless, it will help clear the decks some more. The productive ones will leave behind wealth and property. And there will be a massive injection of cash from compensating the victims of this dreadful disaster, courtesy of our friend Mr Truman. I know there’s still work to do, but we are only in the early stages of this project. From now, the actions will be smaller and more targeted. Financial incentives to abort unhealthy foetuses, paid sterilisations, selective treatments according to intelligence and ability, and so many similar things. And please, don’t give me that shocked look. Whatever we do, it won’t be as big as what we’ve already got away with. It’s not about whether people will go for it, it’s only about the amount of money they’ll ask.”

  “But if The Haven collapses and the truth comes out?”, Gregory asked.

  “It won’t. Haven’t you learnt anything yet? If I were a believer, I’d say that my hands were blessed in some way. As it is, it’s my own commitment to a cause that I know is right, that is bringing me success. They’ll be obstacles, but none that can’t be overcome. This is a new age. An age of common sense, financial stability and genuinely equal rights.”

  “And, presumably,”, Carrington added, “Alison Connolly, the one loose end we couldn’t tie up, she’s working with you. A name in the Treasury to put financial value on everything you’re doing. I can’t believe it’s just about money though. Philian, you want to tell this scumbag what you think of him?”

  “Words aren’t enough.”, Gregory spoke to his friend, unsure about the request.

  “You remember we made promises to each other?”, Carrington said to him, “You promised. I hold you to that. Just don’t hold me to mine, okay.”

  “Enough of the love-in.”, Roper shouted, “Time’s ticking away. Unless you’ve got anything else to say, perhaps now is the time to finish this off?”

  “This is about you and I.”, Carrington addressed Roper directly, “I understand your need to kill me, but why Philian? Surely, there’s more mileage in putting him up for trial? The result’s the same, but you get the credit for catching a dangerous felon. And justice is served by the system. I deserve to die at your hands. I can live with that. But Gregory should be tried. Don’t you think?”

  Roper thought about Carrington’s suggestion for a moment. There were pros and cons to it and there might well be some political mileage in putting Gregory there before the public. He didn’t like him. He had no personal connection to him. And prison followed by execution was a less pleasant end than he had planned for Carrington. He respected Carrington. Hated him, looked forward to killing him, but respected him nonetheless. Philian Gregory, on the other hand, was beneath him.

  “Okay.”, Roper said, “As a last favour to you. If a favour it is, I’ll put him up for trial. Guys, take him onto the Mezzanine and secure him there, I’ll be out shortly.”

  The two men who had stood silently behind the PM throughout the discussion lowered their rifles and moved towards Gregory, grabbing his chair on either side and pulling him out into the corridor. They lifted the rifles again and kept them directed to his head.

  “So, just you and I.”, Roper said to Carrington, removing a small pistol from the desk drawer and pointing it at him, “And, Game Over, I believe.”

  Chapter Sixty

  Carrington’s smile worried Roper. It was out of place in the situation. It demanded explanation.

  “I know you’re not one for wry smiles, so, what is it?”, the Prime Minister asked cautiously.

  “Oh, nothing really, I was just looking at that.”, Carrington laughed as he pointed the CCTV monitor that was still turned towards him, “I thought it might be a recording, but the clock seems about right.”

  Roper turned the monitor back and picked up a walkie-talkie that lay on his desk.

  “What’s happening?”, he asked.

  “Well, get them back out. Drive them yourselves if you have to. That’s an order.”

  He threw the handset down and glared at Carrington, wondering how it might be possible that the man in front of him had been responsible for the trucks returning back to the warehouse, where they were neatly lined up across the entrance in full view of the camera.

  “Don’t look at me.”, Carrington smiled, the gun pointed directly at him, “I’m not responsible for that one. Mind you, it’s nice to see.”

  “I don’t have time for this.”, Roper hissed, his finger slipping over the trigger.

  “According to my calculations.”, Carrington focused on the clock that ticked away in his mind, keeping pace with the seconds that had been ticking away on the monitor, “I don’t think you have time for much else.”

  The explosion knocked Philian Gregory to the floor and sent one of his guards over the rail and onto the warehouse floor. The other manage
d to keep his balance and moved to where Gregory lay, pointing the rifle at his captive. He only remained that way for a moment. The bullet that hit him in the side of the head put paid to any action he was planning to take and he fell next to the confused prisoner who vomited at the mix of blood and brain tissue that covered him.

  “Stay put.”, he heard a familiar voice calling to him, “The cavalry is on its way. I’ll see you around.”

  From his vantage point above the warehouse, just prior to the explosion, he’d watched as the trucks returned to the warehouse. He didn’t understand what was happening and now, understood even less. That said, he recognised Dave’s voice, and that recognition was reassuring. He knew he wouldn’t be able thank him directly, but then, Dave wasn’t a great one for thanks anyway.

  ******

  Any joy that Philian Gregory felt about escaping with his life was tempered by the knowledge that the explosion he’d heard had almost certainly signalled the death of the best friend he had ever had. Events had moved quickly, as Dave had said they would. A unit of armed police had arrived and begun to secure the area until they’d been forced to hand over to a crack army unit, who in turn, acceded command to a number of dark suited men and women. There being few living people in the warehouse, the police had already made a positive identification of him, one which confirmed the name he’d given, and with that information had identified him as a wanted man. He’d done the calculations in his head already. Any escape now was merely a putting off of the death sentence that he’d have to face. So be it. There was nothing more he could do.

  His transport out of the warehouse was surprisingly comfortable. Numerous cordons were in place and helicopters circled the area, but the SUV he was in was waved through every checkpoint and the single guard who watched over him did so with more care than caution. Yes, she was armed. But her weapon was sheaved. And she asked him several times if he was comfortable.

  From that vehicle, he was led through a sterile series of corridors whose lack of signage told him that this was no ordinary holding facility, and then on into a small cell that was secure but well-equipped. By the time he’d showered and changed into the new clothes they’d left for him, he was more than ready for the meal that appeared through a slot in the door. The cell was to be is home for a couple of days. The food remained as good as that first meal, there waiting for him every time he’d returned from an interview session.

  He answered their questions as best he could. And he held nothing back as he spoke openly and honestly about his time with Nathan Carrington. There were numerous questions that he still needed answers to, but he was the suspect now and they may never be answered. When they called him for the final session, he had already decided that he would not plead for his life but would accept whatever punishment they deemed appropriate. Despite the numerous justifications that he and Carrington had used to argue the validity of their actions, the law was the law.

  “Please, take a seat.”, the same armed officer who had driven with him from the warehouse pointed to one of the standard issue orange plastic chairs that was bolted to the floor next to the steel table that was the centrepiece of the room, “Agent Smith will be with you shortly. And a word of advice. It really is his name, don’t make a big thing about it.”

  He was surprised that she had winked at him. Not professional, but certainly a welcome touch of humanity.

  “Philian Gregory.”, Smith entered the room a little while later, a folder under one arm and his hand extended in greeting, “Agent Smith, MI6. Pleased to meet you.”

  “And you, Sir.”, Gregory replied, thankful for the tip-off about his name.

  “You must be getting tired of all this.”, Smith said, gesturing around the room, “Don’t worry, we should be able to resolve your fate today. That is, if you’ll help me out with a few things.”

  “Absolutely,”, Gregory told him, “although I can’t think I’ve anything more to say.”

  “Oh, you’ve been very helpful,”, Smith dropped the folder on the desk, “very helpful indeed. In many ways, your version of events stacks up just fine. And your contribution to events overall has been invaluable. Needless to say, we remain at the early stages of investigations, but you’ve helped us a great deal.”

  “The only problem that we have is this.”, he tapped the folder in front of him, “And, I’ll be honest, I’m not sure what to make of it. Before we go on to that though, I can assure you that any charges in relation to the death of your ex-girlfriend Amanda will be dropped. The information that came out of The Haven’s database gave us more than enough information there. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.”, Gregory felt the pull of tears as he remembered how Amanda had suffered.

  “And so, to this.”, Smith tapped the folder again before turning over the front cover, “Something of an enigma and something of a contradiction. Let me give you a flavour of what’s here.”

  Gregory sat in silence as Smith turned over page after page of detailed information, all of which he was familiar with but not quite in the way it was presented. He managed to catch sight of a number of pages and recognised the beautiful script that Carrington could produce when he had the inclination to do so. Smith continued for over an hour, after which he closed the folder and stared at Philian Gregory.

  “This dossier was placed on a desk in the Met’s headquarters sometime over the weekend. How it got there, we’re still not sure. Although CCTV managed to catch a few glimpses of our reverse-burglar in his travels. It is, quite simply, a full confession of guilt, signed by Nathan Carrington and impeccably presented. It tells us how he made sure that you were unaware of his actions, how you thought that you were simply helping out a friend and how you needed to be protected from any associated guilt. As evidence, from our side, it clears everything up. But, it leaves us with a little problem. You see, your own statements conflict with what is written here. Perhaps we can find a solution?”

  “But Carrington’s dead.”, Gregory said softly, “You don’t think he was the intruder?”

  “No, not at all. You’re right, what was left of Carrington was enough to confirm that he died along with Roper. The intruder, well, we have our suspicions. Let’s not worry too much about an unknown perpetrator who we might, for the sake of argument, refer to as Dave. Before we continue though, perhaps you might want to read this.”

  He passed across an envelope that had been opened but resealed. It was addressed to him. He pulled out the single sheet inside and began to read:

  Dear Philian

  My deepest apologies for having misled you along the way. Your friendship and support were more than I could ever have hoped for and you helped me complete a journey that I began many years ago.

  Tell them what you know you should. That my actions, as detailed in the file in their possession, are a true and accurate representation of events. You deserve to live the life I deprived you of.

  I’m sorry that I couldn’t keep my promise. And I’m sorry for any worry that I put you through in my planning for the final event. Maybe now you realise why I couldn’t see a doctor. Nothing was quite as it seemed.

  Thanks again for all your help, you truly were a real friend to me.

  Yours

  Nathan

  “What does he mean about the doctor?”, Gregory asked, taking a tissue from the box he was offered and drying his eyes.

  “It seems that Carrington was well prepared for the final showdown.”, Smith explained, “Over the past month he’d been injecting himself with a variety of chemicals. Somewhere along the line, he must have had surgery to install bags under his flesh. We found traces of these in the debris. Our experts think that his weight gain was the build-up of these chemicals and their analysis indicates that he was using two substances that, on their own, are stable, but when mixed, are lethal. You said that you’d noticed him looking a little the worse for wear. Not surpris
ing really, and the pain he must have endured would have been getting progressively worse as the chemicals reacted with his flesh. Somewhere on his body he must have secreted a seal between the two substances, most likely a bone that he could break. When he broke that seal in the office, it allowed the two chemicals to mix and create the explosion. He was, in effect, a walking bomb. We’ve seen it in the Middle East, but not in quite this way.”

  “Unbelievable.”, Gregory sighed as he remembered the jokes and the genuine concern about Carrington’s changing body.

  “So, can we have a new statement from you please?”, Smith asked, “In light of this new evidence.”

  There had been a time, many years back when Philian Gregory had been asked at a job interview if there was ever a justified time to tell a lie. He’d answered as honestly as he could and hadn’t got the job. But that question always haunted him. By rights, there never was. In reality, there would always be a right time. Now was one of those times.

  When he’d finished giving his statement, the female guard escorted him back to his cell. He prepared to sit down for the evening but she simply looked at him and pointed to a small holdall that had appeared on the bed.

  “You’ll be collected in a few minutes.”, she told him. Then she left the cell, the door remaining wide open.

  “We’re booked into a very nice hotel.”, DI Walker smiled as he greeted Philian Gregory, “So, let’s get a crack on and make the most of the expense account.”

  Not quite sure what was happening, Gregory grabbed the bag he’d packed and followed Walker.

  “Angela Connolly,”, the policeman told Gregory as they settled down with a pint of premium lager in the lounge of the very exclusive hotel, “has been very open and honest in her testimony. She was Roper’s accountant, but she knew what she was doing. The Haven members are being rounded up one by one and have all made guilty pleas. As much, I think, to avoid having to walk around in public after the broadcast that Carrington’s jump-drive delivered. And things are beginning to get back to normal out there. Martial law ended with Roper, leaving us with something of a gap in custodial choices, but also a huge opportunity to fix what was a broken system.”