State Sponsored Terror Read online

  ‘I love that tune, whatever it is,’ said Dollars, singing the chorus out loud.

  ‘Me too,’ said Adam. ‘It’s the biz.’

  They could all see the guy driving the car. He was by himself, dressed smart in a business suit, late twenties, neat dark hair, a clean-shaven guy with an angular face that said: Success-Success-Success to anyone who’d care to check him out, the kind of guy any mother would love her daughter to bring home, the kind of guy the mother would always end up flirting with.

  He saw the swaying slim young woman waving the sign, and braked hard and pulled in front of the wagon, and stopped with a screech of burning rubber.

  By then the wagon was almost on top of the car.

  Dollars wafted away a rippling wave of black rubber smoke that homed in on her baby’s face. They all heard the guy reach over and shout out, ‘Want London, kid?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Joss, ‘any chance?’

  ‘Get in!’ he yelled, revving the engine, while flashing his toothpaste smile.

  She opened the door and jumped in and the car burst away, throwing Joss back in the seat, and more stinking rubber smoke to the rear.

  ‘You knew that girl?’ said Ged.

  ‘No,’ said Adam.

  ‘Yes,’ said Eve simultaneously. Clarifying, ‘she’s my sister.’

  ‘Your sister?’ he said. ‘Did you want me to pick her up?’

  ‘No way!’ said Eve. ‘She’s trouble. She’s a naughty minx.’

  ‘I quite like naughty minxes,’ said Ged, smirking at Hawkeye and Dollars and Eve in turn.

  Dollars said, ‘Behave yourself, Ged Petulengro, or you’ll feel the back of my hand.’

  Ged laughed aloud and called for more effort from the horse.

  SOMEWHERE ON THE MAIN road between Hinton and Lyndhurst, the wagon pulled off to the left, and rumbled along a half gravelled track and was soon swallowed up by the dank forest.

  ‘Where are we going?’ said Adam.

  ‘You’ll see,’ said Ged.

  It was silent there, in the forest, away from the thunder of the traffic, silent, but for an occasional woodpecker banging out its message, or a sudden burst of birdsong, as groups of songbirds dodged across their path. Far away, a cow lowed, and other than a distant aeroplane heading down for Hurn airport, they travelled in silence, but for the creaking back axle, and Hawkeye’s crazy attempts at speech.

  ‘Nearly there,’ said Ged, and a few moments later they pulled into a large, oval clearing. It was the middle of the afternoon but already the sun was going down. Eve shivered.

  ‘Make yourself useful,’ said Ged to Adam. ‘Go and collect wood, as much as you can. It will be cold tonight.’

  Ged unhitched the horse and took it to one side and loosely tethered it to a metal peg he had smashed into the hardening sandy soil. The wagon stood in the centre of the clearing. Close by was evidence of past campfires. Eve guessed they had been there before.

  ‘Give me a hand with the tent,’ he said, pointing to beneath the wagon, where the canvas and poles were neatly stowed.

  He was good with the tent, quick and easy, and he grinned at Eve and said, ‘I’ll make two rooms. Give you a bit of privacy.’

  ‘Oh but....’

  ‘None of my business,’ he said, holding up his hands.

  Adam returned, carrying an armful of mixed branches and logs, to find Dollars sitting on the wagon, feeding Hawkeye. He tried hard not to look.

  ‘Not bad,’ said Ged, pointing to where he wanted Adam to drop the fuel. ‘But we’ll need the same again for later. Off you go, sunshine.’

  Adam pulled a good-natured face and disappeared back into the undergrowth, as Ged began assembling the fire. He returned to the wagon and pulled two white firelighters from a box slung beneath the timbers. He noticed Eve watching him.

  ‘I’m not too proud to use modern technology,’ he said, without a hint of irony. Eve giggled. ‘Especially in winter,’ he muttered, as he finished the fire, and lit it with a long match.

  Hawkeye had finished his tea, and Dollars came to the fire and began assembling an old kettle over the flickering flame. Then she came back with a huge frying pan and set that over the edge of the fire. Adam returned a few minutes later, bearing more logs, to be met by the aroma of sizzling strips of lean meat.

  ‘Something smells good,’ he said. ‘What is it?

  ‘Venison,’ said Dollars. ‘We eat a lot of it.’

  ‘Where do you get it?’ said Adam, closing on the pan for a closer look.

  ‘Where do you think?’ said Ged, peering into the trees.

  ‘You kill deer?’ said Eve.

  ‘Course not,’ he said. ‘That would be illegal.’

  Adam and Eve didn’t know what to believe.

  The meat was served with thick slices of bread that Dollars had bought that morning, and afterwards some queer kind of weird apple cake that looked awful, but tasted great. They sat in the darkness around the fire grinning at one another, as the flames played across their faces. Occasionally a fox would bark, or a squirrel shriek, or a crack of charcoal would zip from the fire, one almost hitting Eve on the nose.

  ‘How do you get away with it?’ said Adam.

  ‘With what?’ said Ged.

  ‘Avoiding the authorities, the EWP, the VCS, the whole bloody thing.’

  ‘We don’t join your stupid clubs,’ said Ged.

  ‘Eh? How do you mean?’

  ‘Exactly that. When we have a child we don’t register the birth. We never have. The authorities have no idea that Hawkeye exists, so they can’t send him any stupid demands. We don’t receive any state benefits, despite the general public thinking we are scrounging wastrels. We don’t have a fixed address, we rarely stay in the same place two nights running, and if they ever came to find us, I’d back my knowledge of the forest against any damn policeman.’

  ‘What happens when you are ill?’ said Eve.

  ‘We don’t get sick,’ said Dollars. ‘It ain’t permitted.’

  ‘What about when you had him?’ and they glanced down at the now slumbering Hawkeye.

  ‘She had him in my Ma’s caravan. No problem at all, was there, lover?’

  ‘Piece of cake,’ she said, grinning nervously, though both Adam and Eve suspected it hadn’t been.

  ‘You must get sick sometimes, some of you must,’ persisted Eve.

  ‘We have our own methods of healing. They usually work, but if they don’t, we know of doctors who will sort us out for a backhander, if it ever comes to that.’

  ‘What about when you die?’ said Adam.

  ‘What about it?’ said Ged.

  ‘Where do you go?’

  ‘In the damn ground of course, just like you will.’

  ‘You’re amazing,’ said Eve.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Ged. ‘We bloody are.’

  Later, when the fire was close to death, they turned in. The temperature was clattering down, and they could see their breath highlighted by the two flaming torches that Ged had carefully set up outside the tent.

  ‘Here,’ said the gypsy, handing Adam and Eve a large sleeping bag. ‘It’s a double, plenty of room for you both. You’ll need it tonight.’

  ‘Oh, but we couldn’t,’ said Eve.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Adam, taking the feather filled bag.

  ‘In you go,’ beckoned Ged, as he extinguished the torches. Dollars and Hawkeye had long since disappeared.

  Inside, it was pitch dark.

  ‘I’ll sleep on the ground,’ whispered Adam, ‘here, you take the bag.’

  ‘Don’t be so stupid,’ she said. ‘You’ll freeze to death. We’ll share. But no mucking about.’

  Mucking about. He pondered on the words. No Mucking about. Of course not. What could she have in mind? Eve fluffed up the bag and placed it on the ground and they slipped in together, fully dressed.

  ‘How do you feel?’ he whispered.

  ‘Being here, you mean?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘S
afe,’ she said. ‘Safe as I have in ages.’

  ‘Me too,’ he said. ‘Funny that.’

  ‘I like the gypsies,’ she said.

  ‘Me too,’ he said again, ‘I love ’em, I always have. They used to pour into Brock on a sat-dee morning. It was all so exciting.’

  ‘Adam?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Thanks for letting me come with you.’

  ‘No worries,’ he said, edging closer to her, if that were possible.

  In the darkness and silence she kissed him on the cheek.

  ‘Ta,’ he said. ‘Ta, loads.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  Adam didn’t know it then, but he wouldn’t think of cake-shop girl again, not in the same way, not ever.

  ‘Now, sleep!’ Eve ordered.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Bossy boots.’

  If there were any night noises from the other section of the tent, neither Adam nor Eve heard them. Perhaps it was the fresh air, perhaps it was because they felt safe and sound, perhaps it was the closeness of their young bodies, and the presence of the gypsies close-by, beyond the canvas wall, and the total blanket of darkness and silence that swept over them, but whatever the reason, they slept the sleep of Gods, Eve’s head propped up on her bag containing the old bible, and the papers.

  Forty-Seven

  Five people attended the Cobra meeting in Downing Street, Thelma Bletchington, looking resplendent in a Stella Morris black dress, Liz Mariner, predictably wearing a navy two-piece business suit, and three gents Liz had yet to be introduced to.

  It turned out the first guy was from the armed forces committee. He was introduced as Captain Eagles, though whether that was his real name Liz neither knew nor cared. He was fiftyish, short grey hair, army cut, and smart. The second guy represented the Cabinet, the sixty-year-old heavy breathing Harry Summers. Liz knew of him a little, and he pretended to know Liz, greeting her as if they were old friends. The third guy was much younger, possibly under thirty, Liz’s generation, public school educated by the sound of his voice, confident, clean-shaven, silky skin, a face cream user, she imagined.

  He was introduced by his code name, security gone mad, thought Harry Summers, Tombstone, not a name to inspire confidence, thought Liz. Tombstone represented the Security Services, though which service, was never made entirely clear. There was another man present, though not part of the meeting, the ever-present blond hunk, who stood inside the door, gawping at the opposite wall as if the house was vacant.

  ‘Good,’ said Thelma, rubbing her hands together, ‘introductions out of the way, let’s get down to business.’

  Tombstone nodded in hunk’s direction and looked questioningly at the PM.

  ‘My bodyguard,’ she said, ‘he stays.’

  ‘Ma’am, I must insist,’ muttered Tombstone, not wishing to look at the hunk again.

  Thelma nodded irritatedly. ‘All right, Henderson, please wait outside.’

  Hunk went out and gently closed the door behind him.

  They settled at the circular table and waited for Thelma to begin.

  ‘The election is set for December 16th,’ she said, ‘there isn’t a moment to lose.’

  Everyone nodded and listened hard.

  ‘The projections all show us winning comfortably, but I have never trusted bloody opinion polls.’

  ‘We’ll be fine,’ soothed Harry. ‘You’ll see.’

  Thelma ignored the old fool.

  ‘I want failsafe systems in place right across the country.’

  Tombstone nodded again. Liz half smiled. Captain Courageous or whatever his name was, examined his fingernails, until Thelma swept her gaze upon him like a searchlight, and he sat upright like a naughty schoolboy reprimanded by the most detested teacher.

  ‘If,’ she said, ‘and it is a big if, we need to re-distribute a small number of votes, can that be arranged, and who would accomplish the task?’

  Liz recognised her cue, though if she had any doubts they were dispelled because they were all staring at her. Just as well she had come prepared.

  ‘I shall take that one,’ she said confidently. ‘I will have a thousand people standing by. They will follow my orders to the letter.’

  ‘A thousand people?’ queried Thelma.

  ‘Yes ma’am, they are already briefed.... up to a point.’

  ‘Where do you find a thousand people at such short notice?’ the PM asked rhetorically, before swiftly moving on. ‘And these people, they are to be trusted?’

  ‘Implicitly ma’am, hand picked; the best, all keen and ready to go.’

  Thelma nodded, and swept her dark eyes around the table.

  Tombstone licked his dry lips and began speaking.

  ‘We have isolated sixty constituencies where the charts say....’

  ‘Bugger the charts!’ snapped Thelma, betraying nerves. ‘Sorry, pray continue.’

  ‘Sixty key marginals, but no ordinary marginals these, but seats that are within thirty miles of rock solid safe seats.’

  ‘And the point of that is?’ asked Captain Eagles.

  ‘The point is,’ continued Tombstone, ‘that we can ease a small proportion of votes away from the safe seats, and dump them in the marginals.’ Tombstone jerked his head as if to check they were all with him.

  ‘We can’t do that!’ snapped old Harry. ‘Not now there is compulsory voting. The returning officer has a record of exactly how many votes should be cast. If there are suddenly numbers missing, they will spot it straight away, and worse than that, in the seats where these votes turn up, the returning officers will smell a rat the moment there are more votes cast than bloody voters on the roll. Come on peeps, get real.’

  They all looked at Harry as if he were a halfwit.

  ‘Well obviously we shall compensate for that by removing some of the hostile votes from the receiving constituency, and return them to source. Isn’t that right?’ said Thelma, as if looking for comfort.

  ‘Course it is,’ said Liz. ‘I don’t see the problem. All you have to do is give us as much notice as possible. My people will deal with everything else. There won’t be a single fraudulent vote anywhere, and there won’t be a single constituency with too many; or too few votes. Everything will balance perfectly. If we can’t organise a basic book-keeping job we don’t deserve to govern the country.’

  Judging by their faces it was precisely what they wanted to hear.

  ‘We shall set up an operations centre here in this room,’ said Thelma. ‘I have already organised a fifteen-minute embargo on figures issued to the Beeb, Sky, ITV, The Messenger, and National Today, Prime Minister’s prerogative. A nice little head start, so to speak. We shall have the latest computer programs running right through the night with a Party official on the ground at each constituency, liasing with the returning officers. Our informants will feed accurate up-to-the-minute information back here, via their mobiles the moment such intelligence becomes available.’

  ‘Will that be sufficient notice for you?’ said Tombstone to Liz.

  ‘Perfectly,’ she said. ‘We will deal with whatever comes. For goodness sake everyone, relax, and stop worrying.’

  ‘And anyway,’ said Harry, ‘it could be that we will canter home, just like The Messenger predicts. This meeting could all be for nothing.’

  Not for the first time the others looked at him askance.

  ‘Better to be prepared,’ said Thelma.

  ‘Course it is,’ said Eagles. ‘The alternative doesn’t bear thinking about.’

  ‘Quite right, Captain,’ said Thelma, reaching over and patting his wrist. ‘That is the whole point. Everything is at stake here. Everything. It would be unthinkable that the opposition should seize our legacy, just when we are getting to grips with things. Can we all be here for 7am on the big day?’

  Everyone concurred.

  ‘It will be a very long day,’ the PM continued, adopting her best stateswoman like tone, ‘but an historic one, something to tell the grandchildren about
.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to it,’ said Tombstone. ‘Life is made for days like these.’

  ‘You’re young,’ said Harry, ‘you wouldn’t say that if you had my heart.’

  ‘If you are not up to it,’ said Thelma, testily, ‘why don’t you bow out, Harry. Take a well-earned break. No one would think any the worse of you, and I am sure we could manage.’

  ‘No, no,’ stuttered Harry, remembering his colleague’s stringent advice that he must observe everything. ‘I shall be fine, Thelma, really I will.’

  ‘Good,’ she said, coldly, ‘that’s sorted then. Any other questions, anyone?’

  No one had, or if they did, they were not bold enough to ask them.

  ‘Thank you all for attending, if you think of anything further contact me immediately. Elizabeth, I’d like a word with you afterwards. And Tombstone, send Henderson back in on your way out, I feel quite naked without him.’

  ‘As you wish, ma’am. Good day to you.’

  Tombstone kissed the proffered hand and disappeared.

  ‘Will we see you in the House tomorrow?’ said Harry to Thelma, as he gathered his things together.

  ‘What?’ she said, as if her mind was elsewhere. ‘Oh, yes Harry, I’m sure I’ll be there at some point.’

  Harry left without kissing the PM’s hand.

  Captain Eagles did so with a flourish, as Liz watched, alternating her eyes between Thelma, Eagles and the hunk. The hunk wasn’t watching, leastways his eyes were not looking in the PM’s direction, though Liz would have taken a bet he was monitoring the activity through peripheral vision. She wondered if that irritated him, the captain fawning around his boss, paying her so much attention, nibbling her fingers. Liz tried hard to keep the smile from her face, and wasn’t sure she’d achieved it. In the next minute they were alone, two women and a hunk.

  ‘Come,’ said Thelma, ‘please sit, Liz, I’d just like to go over one or two points without those oafs present, those.... those.... stupid men.’

  ‘As you wish, Prime Minister.’

  Thelma gave her that look again; the faint stare that said: Christian Names were now de rigueur.

  ‘As you know, Sir Robert has gone, and as I mentioned before, I want you to take over as head of the SPATs.’