I stare at him. I don’t have that kind of power. I’m just me. I’m angry, and I’m determined, but I’m not blessing anyone. I learnt a script, and I put my anger behind my words.
Anger that turned into passion.
Anger that turned into inspiration.
Anger that will send our resistance cell out to kill innocent people.
My knees fold under me, and I drop into a chair.
I’ve never thought of myself as a terrorist. It’s just a word the government used when I slipped through their fingers. It’s an ugly word, and a violent word, and I’ve never been a terrorist.
Until now.
Reaction
KETTY
“Corporal Smith? Switchboard here. Can Colonel Bracken take a call?”
“Can you give me five minutes to check?”
“I’ll give you one. It’s Scotland on the line, and we’re not supposed to keep them waiting.”
I put the call on hold and knock on Bracken’s door. He’s sitting at his desk when I walk in, and I can’t hide my smile.
“Call from Scotland, Sir. Shall I put it through? Can you talk to them now?”
He looks at me, and smiles back. “I think that would be convenient, Ketty. Let’s see what they have to say.”
“Yes, Sir.”
I step back to my desk, and tell the switchboard to forward the call.
Bracken’s had coffee this morning, and he seems OK. All I can do is sit and wait.
Please don’t screw this up, Sir.
*****
We put the footage on PIN last night. The section where Dewar identifies Dan, and admits that he didn’t report the illegal workers.
It feels good to be doing something, now that Jake is out of our reach. We need to show the Scottish government what we can do. We need to show them that we’re serious. They need to understand that we have the power to detain their citizens, and the nerve to use it.
Bracken opens the door to my office and leans against the door frame. He’s been on the phone for twenty minutes, and he looks exhausted.
“Did we get our message through to them, Sir?”
He nods. “We did.”
“And?”
“And now we wait. I’ve explained what we have in store for Mr Dewar, and they have made it very clear that they object to everything I told them.”
“Have they offered to do anything about it?”
He shakes his head. “No, but I reminded them that there are four more wanted terrorists being sheltered inside their borders, and pointed out that the sooner they do something about that, the sooner they can expect to welcome our prisoner home.”
He’s smiling now, and I’m smiling back.
“So they might be persuaded to stop protecting our recruits?”
He shrugs. “Who knows, Ketty? This is just the beginning.”
“So no trial yet?”
“No trial yet. But I don’t see a problem with asking Mr Dewar a few more questions. I’m sure PIN would be happy to air more footage of our Scottish collaborator.”
“Yes, Sir. Would this afternoon be convenient?”
“I think it would.”
*****
“Craig Dewar.”
He looks up, lifting his head from his hands. His face is pale, and there are dark circles under his eyes.
“How are you today? Sleeping well?”
He shakes his head, and stares at me.
“Who are you? The welfare police?”
You think I’m the good cop? Think again.
I give him a tight smile, and shake my head.
“My name is Corporal Smith. I’m the person who recorded your conversation yesterday.” He looks around the room, and points at the mirror. I nod.
He sits back in his chair and waits for me to continue.
“You’ll be pleased to know that we’ve shown that conversation to your government.” He raises his eyebrows, and I hold up one hand. “Well – parts of it. The part where you admit that you didn’t report the terrorists. The part that makes you an accomplice.”
He stares at me.
“That’s it?”
“That’s enough, don’t you think?”
“But I’m not …”
I hold up my hand.
“We’ve got the evidence to convict you. You’re a foreign national, you’re in detention, and we’re waiting for your government to decide what to do about it.”
He slumps down in the chair, his hands cuffed to the table in front of him.
“But they’ve already refused a prisoner exchange”
“Yes, they have.”
“So what’s this about? Why are you here?”
I smile at him again.
“I thought we could have a chat, Mr Dewar.”
He looks past me, at the mirror.
“Is this being recorded?”
“It is.”
“Then can I say something?”
“Do you want to make a statement?”
He nods. “Yeah.”
I shrug, and move my chair to one side.
“Be my guest, Mr Dewar.” I point at the mirror. “The camera’s back there.”
And I sit back and wait.
*****
“This is good, Ketty. This is very good.”
I nod, watching the screen. Dewar is talking. He’s explaining his side of the story, and he’s begging for the Scottish government to bring him home.
“I think we can use this.”
“Yes, Sir.” I’m smiling. The prisoner had a lot to say, and he didn’t need my help to incriminate himself. There are plenty of soundbites here. Plenty of clips for PIN. We can keep his story in the headlines for days with this footage.
Bracken copies the footage onto a portable drive, and we switch off the recording equipment.
I stand up to leave, and find Bracken still in his chair, watching me.
“How are you, Ketty?”
I sit down.
“What do you mean, Sir?”
He looks down at the drive in his hands.
“The other day. Puffy eyes. Dark circles.” He looks up. “I was worried.”
Leave me alone, Sir. I don’t need your sympathy.
“I’m fine, Sir.”
He nods.
“Good. Good.” He meets my gaze. “I need you, Ketty. I can’t do my job if you’re …” He pauses, and looks down at his hands again.
I stare at him, trying to understand what he’s saying. In the awkward silence, he turns the drive over and over in his hands.
He thinks I’ve been drinking.
He thinks I’m as weak as he is.
And I realise. I lay awake for a whole night. I replayed my memories of hurt and pain. I cried, and I let myself feel things I thought I’d forgotten.
And I never once thought about having a drink.
I faced the pain, and I made myself feel it. I didn’t flinch away. I looked at things I wanted to forget, and I relived my nightmares.
Alone.
And I didn’t reach for a whisky bottle.
There’s a smile spreading across my face when Bracken looks at me again. He raises his eyebrows, but he doesn’t comment.
“I’m fine, Sir. Honestly.”
And I am. I’m stronger than Bracken, and I’m stronger than Dad. We have the footage in our hands to scare the Scottish government and the OIE. We’re putting Margaret and Elizabeth on PIN every night. We’ve lost Jake, but the others aren’t as safe as they think they are.
Focus, Ketty. Do your job. Impress Franks. Keep Bracken working.
Discipline, determination, backbone.
I’m still smiling as we leave the room.
I can do this.
Vote
BEX
“I’ve spoken to the Scottish government, and it’s bad news for us.”
There’s a murmur round the table as Fiona pulls out the notes from her meeting with the Prime Minister at Holyrood.
“They wan
t Craig Dewar back. London has threatened to execute him, and they can’t let that happen.” She looks round the table. “We all know that Dewar is only under interrogation because we saved Jake Taylor. If the Scottish government had sent him to London, Dewar would have been returned home in exchange. We stopped that.”
I open my mouth to protest, and Fiona looks at me.
“We did the right thing, Miss Ellman. No one is suggesting otherwise. But these situations are complicated, and now we have to deal with the fallout.”
I nod, swallowing my defence of Jake. She’s right. It was the right thing to do. And now we have to work out the right response to this situation. And the next. And the next.
This is what running a resistance movement means. It’s not just about what we do – it’s about what London does, and Scotland, and everyone else who might decide to help us. It’s complicated and it’s messy. And this is what I’ve signed up for.
“The bad news for us is that London wants us out of Scotland.”
There’s a collective gasp from everyone in the room. Fiona looks around at us.
“We always knew that this could happen. If London had something to bargain with, they could force the Scottish government to stop protecting us. And the bad news is that that’s what they’re trying to do.”
Everyone’s asking questions at once. Shouting and gesturing, and all I can hear is noise.
They’re trying to take away our safety. They’re trying to send us back to London.
Fiona holds up her hands, and the shouting stops.
“We’re not going to let that happen. We’re talking to Scotland, and we’re talking to our allies elsewhere. This is the start of a long process, and we need to be diplomatic. That said, I’m open to suggestions, and no one will be sanctioned for pitching ideas. We need to consider every possibility if we’re going to save Mr Dewar, and save ourselves.”
The room is silent for a moment, and then a man a few seats along the table from me starts to speak.
“This is awkward, but are we sure it’s us they want out of Scotland? Is it the OIE they’re trying to get rid of, or is it just our resident Most Wanted terrorists?”
My head snaps up, and my heart starts hammering. I can feel colour rising in my cheeks.
Everyone at the table is looking at me.
There’s a serious look on Fiona’s face, and she won’t meet my eyes.
“Is that it?” I ask, quietly. “Are they trying to trade Craig Dewar for me and my friends?”
Fiona shifts uncomfortably in her seat.
“It’s not that simple, Miss Ellman. They haven’t asked for anything specific yet …”
“Do they want you to send us to London?” My voice is still quiet, but everyone is listening.
She looks down at her notes, and clasps her hands on the table in front of her.
“At this stage, Miss Ellman, they have simply reminded the Scottish government that their Most Wanted terrorists are currently being sheltered in Edinburgh.”
“So our freedom is on the table? What happens to us is part of this negotiation?”
She nods. “In part.” I try to interrupt, but she holds up a hand. “This is just the start, Bex. This is the posturing before they make a deal.”
I clench my fists, and force my voice to stay calm and level.
“How many of us do they want, in exchange for Mr Dewar?” She tries to speak, but I keep talking. “What’s the going rate for a Scottish citizen? How many refugees will they hand over to get him back alive?”
Fiona shakes her head.
“And what if Scotland doesn’t hand us over? What then? They’ve got my mother, and they’ve got Margie. They’ve already broken Mum’s arm, and messed up her face. What else will they do?” I’m losing control. I’m shouting, and I can’t stop. “How long until they execute my mother?”
Fiona slumps in her chair. No one is looking at me – they’re all staring at their notes, or shuffling their briefing papers.
“This matters, Fiona,” I say, quietly. “I just want to know what they want.”
“I hear you, Bex,” she says, eventually. “All we can do is keep talking. Keep meeting with the Scottish government, and keep fighting for you. You’re right – this is dangerous, and there are real consequences for everyone involved, and we need to remember that.” She glances around the table, making sure everyone is listening. “At the moment, they’re just making noise. Pointing fingers and making the Scottish government nervous. We’ll stay on top of it, Bex – I promise. And I’ll let you know if anything changes.”
I nod, shuffling my own briefing papers, trying to breathe. Barbara puts her hand on my arm and gives me a quick sympathetic smile.
“I’m talking to Scotland again later. I should have more news for you tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Fiona,” I say, my voice so quiet that I wonder whether I’ve spoken out loud at all.
I want to walk away. I want to crawl into bed, and pull the covers over my head. I want to talk to Dan.
But I can’t. Fiona moves the meeting on, and I make myself listen.
“The advisers have met with our resistance cell, and they tell me they’ve identified a target in London.” She holds her hands up to stop the flood of questions. “I’ve asked them to keep it to themselves.”
Everyone’s shouting again, and she waits for the noise to calm down.
“I made this decision, because it is safer for everyone. The satellite phone link should be secure, but we can’t be completely certain. If someone’s tapping the line, all they know is that there’s an attack coming. This way, they don’t know where. This way, we have a chance of slipping past their defences.”
Three or four people ask questions at once, and Fiona shakes her head.
“I’ll put it to a vote, but let me say this. The less we know, the less the Home Forces know. We asked the cell to look for a target in London.” She glances at me and nods. My stomach knots. “We’ve already voted on that. But I’ve asked them to find a target close to the government. I want to send a message to the Home Forces as well as the coalition. We’ve sent them experts to make sure they do as much damage as they can with the weapons they’ve been given. Telling us what they’re going to do only puts them at risk, and threatens the success of the attack.”
This is real. This is happening.
I close my eyes and take a breath.
“I trust them. I trust the advisers, and I trust the volunteers. I propose that we give them the best possible chance. Approve their plan, and let them chose the target.” She glances at her notes. “A show of hands, please. All those in favour.”
I think about my message to the bombers. About the support I promised them, and the trust we’re putting in them to get this right. The people round this table need courage, determination, and support, just as much as the resistance cells in the UK. We’re all in this together, and if we fail, we all fail.
I hate that they’re using my idea. I hate that we’re doing this at all.
But we need to believe we can win.
We’ve done everything we can to help the bombers. It’s time to step back.
I feel sick.
I feel angry.
I don’t want this responsibility, but I want to help Mum, and Margie, and all the other prisoners in their cells. All the people they haven’t arrested yet.
I want to bring the Home Forces down.
I look round the table at all the people who’ve protected me. The people who care about what happens in London. The people who are trying to make a difference. One by one, their hands go up.
I’m one of them now. I’m part of this, and I can make a difference.
I raise my hand.
Franks
KETTY
We spend the morning at Belmarsh, recording interviews with Elizabeth, Margaret, and Craig Dewar. It doesn’t take long – Elizabeth and Craig give me soundbites I can use without much prompting, and I make sure the cameras get a goo
d look at Margaret’s bruises. She’s still refusing to talk, but at least we’re sending a message with her fading black eyes and bruised cheeks. It’s amazing, the colours you see on pale skin when bruises start to heal.
Franks is waiting in my office when we get back.
“Colonel Bracken. Corporal Smith.”
“Sir!” I drop my bag onto my desk and jump to attention.
“Relax, Corporal.” She smiles, and glances at Bracken, behind me. “At ease.”
I clasp my hands behind my back as Franks opens the door to Bracken’s office.
“Shall we?”
She holds the door open for Bracken, and I find myself hoping he hasn’t left a whisky bottle out where she can see it.
She glances back at me. “You, too, Corporal.”
I follow her inside.
“Take a seat.” She waves me to one of the chairs in front of Bracken’s desk, and sits down in the other. Bracken sits facing us across the desk.
“What can we do for you, Major General?” Bracken asks, his eyes scanning his desk. I realise we’re both looking for whisky bottles and glasses, but there’s nothing visible. I take a calming breath, and turn to Franks.
“Scotland, Colonel. How are our friends north of the border reacting to news of your prisoner?”
Bracken nods. “As expected. Plenty of shouting.”
“So no progress yet?”
I sit up straighter in my chair.
We’ve opened negotiations. We’ve put him on TV, all but confessing his guilt. What else are you expecting?
“I wouldn’t say that, Sir.” Bracken sounds as surprised as I am. “We’re definitely having an effect.”
“The same effect you’d expect if you poked a nest of wasps?” She raises her eyebrows and fixes Bracken with a stare. “Angry, and possibly dangerous, but ultimately leading nowhere?”
Bracken shakes his head. “No, Sir. I think we’re making them understand that what they did with Jake Taylor was a mistake. I think we’re showing them that we’re not going to accept it without consequences.”
Franks nods. “So what’s the end game here, Colonel? What has to happen for you to declare this a win for us?”
Fighting Back (Battle Ground YA UK Dystopia Series Book 4) Page 21