Bracken thinks for a moment.
“The best-case scenario? The OIE becomes too hot to handle. Scotland expels them.” Franks nods, and gestures for him to continue. “Expelling our missing recruits would also be a win. Taking away their refugee protections, and putting them on the run again? That would give us more chances to bring them back here and make an example of them. I don’t think I can exaggerate the effect on the resistance when they see the faces from those wanted posters on trial on PIN.”
Franks nods again. “And if Scotland doesn’t react? If the OIE stays where they are?” She leans forward. “What if the Scottish government comes up with a deal to save the prisoner? What if this does nothing to bring us the Face of the Resistance and her friends?”
“It’s really too early to be asking these questions, Sir. We’re taking this one step at a time.” Bracken sounds nervous.
“And are you willing to execute this prisoner, just to give the Scots a bloody nose?”
I nod. Bracken glances at me, and back at Franks.
“Yes. I think it would send an important message about our intentions.”
Franks holds his gaze for a moment, then turns to me.
“What do you think, Corporal? Bracken tells me this was your idea.”
“Yes, Sir.” I look at Bracken, but he’s looking at the desk again.
Thank you, Sir. Just when I need some support.
I look back at Franks, and she’s watching my reaction.
“I think it’s important to show them that we’re serious, Sir. They’ve been offering refugee status to UK citizens for years, now. I think we should show them that we’re not going to let them shelter any more terrorists.”
“And specifically not the underage terrorists that you lost from Camp Bishop?”
Is that a problem, Sir? I thought tracking them down was part of my job description.
I nod. “Sheltering the Face of the Resistance ought to have consequences, Sir. They’re giving refugee status to someone whose image is an encouragement to all the groups who want to bring down the Home Forces.” Franks nods, waiting for me to say more. “They’re promoting anarchy and terrorism. Attacks that are outside our control.”
Franks looks at me, trying to hide the look of surprise on her face, and too late, I realise what I’ve said.
I can feel my cheeks burning.
That’s Top Secret, Ketty. That’s above your pay grade. And you’ve just told Major General Franks that you know about the false flag attacks.
Franks turns to Bracken, and he’s staring at me, his face grey.
“Dismissed, Corporal Smith. I have something to discuss with the Colonel.” She doesn’t look at me as I stand up, salute, and leave the room.
*****
I sit at my desk, and replay the conversation in my head. Franks asked me to justify my actions, and I did. I gave her my honest opinion.
I admitted to knowledge I shouldn’t have.
And now Bracken’s being blamed for sharing it with me.
Franks knows about his drinking. She’ll assume that he gave me classified information while drunk.
Will she assume that I’m manipulating him? Or that he is not fit for his job?
Did I just put a gun to Bracken’s head, and pull the trigger?
Am I out of a job?
Stupid, Ketty.
I’m too shocked to be angry. All I can do is wait for Franks to come out of the office. To find out what they’ve said to each other.
What they’ve decided.
The numb, empty feeling is back. I’ve screwed up, and I can’t do anything to make it right.
Is this the meeting I’ve been dreading? Decisions, behind closed doors? Discussions I can’t influence, deciding my future?
I sit up straight in my chair, staring at the map on the far wall.
And I realise it’s a map of my failures.
Leominster, where I helped Holden wipe out a town full of people. Camp Bishop, where we lost the recruits. Makepeace Farm, where Jake left me injured in the dark, and Bex and her friends walked to safety ten meters away from me. The road in Wales where William’s rebels attacked the coach, and the hospital where Jackson died. The nursing home, where Bex slipped out before I could catch her. The safe house in Newcastle, empty by the time we reached it.
What have I done to earn my place in London? Maybe Brigadier Lee is right. Maybe I don’t deserve to be here. I think about his lists of my mistakes, and I can’t deny the things I’ve done wrong.
I slam my fist onto the desk in frustration.
Come on Ketty. You have a job to do.
I pull my bag across the desk, and pull out the paperwork from this morning’s interviews.
Concentrate, Ketty. Do something useful.
*****
The door opens, and Franks walks out. I stand and salute, and she nods.
“At ease, Corporal.”
She watches as I relax my stance, and raises an eyebrow when I don’t sit down.
I’m not being fired at my desk. I’ll stand.
“Go and talk to Bracken, Corporal.” She glances towards the door. “Some coffee wouldn’t hurt, if you’re heading that way.”
“Yes, Sir.”
My knee is shaking as she leaves the room, and I have to lean on the edge of the desk to stop myself from falling.
Still here, Ketty. Still standing.
I take some deep breaths, and head out to fetch coffee for both of us.
*****
By the time I come back, Bracken has the whisky bottle on his desk, and two glasses. He downs the whisky in the glass he’s holding, then pours himself another. He waves the bottle at the other glass and looks at me, but I shake my head. He shrugs, and takes a cup of coffee from me as I sit down.
“What was that, Ketty? What is it that you think you know?”
“I’m sorry, Sir. I misspoke.”
He nods. “Yes, you did. And now Franks thinks I’ve been telling you things I shouldn’t.”
To be fair Sir, you have.
“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean …”
He waves a hand at me. “I know you didn’t.”
“So what happens now?”
He points a finger at me. “What happens now is you learn to keep your mouth shut.”
I nod. “Yes, Sir. Absolutely, Sir.”
He stares at the whisky in his glass.
“So what do you know?”
Careful, Ketty. Don’t make this worse.
“What do you mean, Sir?”
“About the attacks. What do you know?”
I look down at the coffee cup, cradled in my hands.
“I know about the false flags, Sir.” He nods, still looking at his glass. “I know about using the resistance cells to place the bombs. About picking smaller targets. Avoiding free-for-all disasters like the Crossrail bombing.”
He looks up at me. “And how do you know this? Have I said things I shouldn’t?”
I shrug. “Little things. Things you’ve said, things Lee’s said. Conrad, Franks. You’ve all made comments. On their own, they wouldn’t add up to much. But put them together? There’s only one interpretation that makes sense.”
And you’re not denying it, Sir.
Bracken shakes his head. “You’re a smart person, Ketty. I shouldn’t forget that.”
Thank you, Sir?
I take a sip of my coffee. “And I was in Leominster, Sir. I saw things …”
“Of course you were.” He downs another glass of whisky. “Of course.”
We both sit in silence. Bracken pours more whisky, and swirls it around in his glass.
“So Franks isn’t sending me home?”
He shakes his head.
“Thankfully, no.” He looks at me again. “I think she likes you, Ketty. She’s given you another chance.”
She doesn’t want to lose your vote on the committee, Sir. And she knows you need me.
“Just – no more comments like that.
Keep classified information to yourself, whoever you’re talking to.”
I’m blushing again. I know how stupid I was.
Right back at you, Sir.
He drains his glass, and thinks for a moment. “I’m supposed to tell you.”
“Tell me what, Sir?”
He closes his eyes. “Video clips for tomorrow. You’re supposed to keep them short. Lee says that PIN will be busy tomorrow. If you want them to show any of your footage on the evening news, make sure you send them short clips.”
Advanced warning of a big news story, from the head of the Terrorism Committee.
Careful, Ketty. This is beyond your security clearance.
I nod. “OK. Thank you, Sir. I’ll do that.”
*****
I call for a car to take Bracken home at half past four. He’s in no condition to stay in the office, and he needs to go home and sleep off the whisky. I walk down to the street with him, ignoring the glances from the guards and the people we pass in the corridors.
On my way back to the office, I’m thinking this through.
Lee is warning us to expect a big news story tomorrow.
A week ago, Lee and Conrad were talking to William Richards. No cameras. Smiles and coffee.
There’s a sick feeling in my stomach as I wonder who Conrad has recruited this time. Where he’s sending them for the attack.
How many civilians are walking into their trap.
Where’s the line, Ketty? How much more of this are you going to put up with? How much more are you going to support?
Friends
BEX
“Bex! Hello, stranger!” Dan throws his hands in the air, as if he’s scored a goal, then pats the sofa next to him. “Join us! Speak words with us! Keep us company!”
“What are you doing here? I thought you had driving practice?” I say, turning the kettle on and reaching for the tea bags.
“Cancelled.” Amy lounges on the other sofa. “The instructor called in sick.”
“And here we are.” He glances at the kettle. “Mine’s a tea, please!”
I give him a dirty look, but I pull out another mug.
“Amy?”
“Tea, please!”
I line up the mugs and the tea bags. I’m supposed to be reading briefing notes, but my eyes stopped focusing, and I need a break. Between the negotiations for Craig Dewar, and the mystery attack, there’s not much I can do today. Nothing that will make a difference.
“So, how’s the committee?” Dan leans back on the sofa, hands behind his head, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows.
“Hey! You know she can’t talk about it.”
“Can’t?” Dan waggles his eyebrows at Amy. “Or won’t?”
“Come on, Dan. You know I can’t.” The kettle boils, and I pour the steaming water into the mugs.
“OK, OK. So how are you, Bex? Drunk on power? Plotting to overthrow Fiona?”
I shake my head. “Trust me – I don’t want Fiona’s job.”
He grins. “Not even …”
“No.” I surprise myself, shouting at Dan, even though I know he’s joking. He looks hurt for a moment, and then stands up and crosses the room to stand beside me.
“Bex? You OK? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I’m whispering, trying to keep my voice down. I concentrate on taking the tea bags out of the mugs and stacking them on a saucer.
Dan puts his hand on my arm, and turns me to face him.
“What’s going on, Bex?” He asks, gently.
And I want to tell him. I want to tell him everything. How I’ve voted for a bomb attack. How the committee has approved the change of target. How I sent the bombers a personal message. That I’m aiding and abetting this attack, and I finally deserve the firing squad the government has lined up for me.
That I’ve become the terrorist they’ve made me out to be.
That thought makes my knees buckle, and I’m sitting on the floor before I can pull myself up. Dan kneels down beside me. When the tears come, he wraps his arms round my shoulders, and I lean my head against his chest. Amy sits down next to me, and quietly strokes my arm.
I’m crying for a long time.
*****
“I think the tea’s cold,” Dan says eventually. I’ve stopped crying, but I don’t want to move. I want my friends here, keeping me safe. I want them to see me – to keep seeing me. Not the committee member. Not the terrorist.
“Come on.” He helps me to sit up straight, and fishes a crumpled packet of tissues from his pocket. I take it, and use half the tissues to dry my face and blow my nose.
“Better?”
“Better. Thanks.”
Amy stands up and helps me to my feet. We walk to the sofa while Dan pours away the cooled drinks and switches the kettle on again.
“Anything you want to talk about?” Amy asks as we sit down.
I shake my head. “Nothing I can talk about.”
“Charlie was right, Bex. Don’t let them wear you out. You don’t have to do this, you know.”
I nod. “I know. But I need to do something. And this feels like fighting back.”
“As long as you’re fighting the bad guys, and not beating yourself up,” Dan calls, over his shoulder.
“I’m fighting the bad guys – don’t worry. It’s just that there’s a certain amount of self-beating-up involved as well.” Amy looks at me, eyebrows raised. “I don’t always agree with the decisions we make, and I don’t always like the choices we have. But sometimes there’s no option. Sometimes you have to do the least worst thing.”
Dan puts three mugs of tea on the coffee table, and sits down on the sofa opposite.
“We have a deal, remember?” He says, picking up his mug. “Any time this gets too much, you come and talk to me.” He leans towards me. “Any time. Right?”
I nod. “Right. Thanks, Dan.”
But it’s hard to talk about something when I’m not allowed to share it.
I pick up my mug and take a sip of my tea.
*****
“Surprise!”
Charlie pushes the door open, shopping bags dangling from her hands. Dan jumps up and holds the door, then takes one of the bags and follows Charlie to the kitchen worktop.
“What’s this?”
Charlie puts her bags down and flexes her fingers.
“I thought you all deserved a treat.” She reaches into the bags and pulls out packets of sandwiches, packets of crisps, cans of drink, and an enormous chocolate cake. “Picnic lunch in the common room.”
Dan grins, picking up a box of deep-fill sandwiches. He holds them out to me, as if he’s holding a priceless treasure. “Look, Bex! Proper sandwiches!”
His grin is infectious, and I can’t help smiling back.
“Where did you get all this?” Amy leans over the back of the sofa, watching Charlie unpack the picnic.
“I had some help from a local.” She looks smug.
“You didn’t go shopping?”
“No. But I made friends with someone who can.”
“You bribed a guard!” Dan looks pleased with himself.
She shakes her head, a smile on her face. “I used my friendly persuasion on … someone.”
“Friendly persuasion?” Dan raises his eyebrows. Charlie winks at him.
“Speaking of …” Charlie checks her watch. “Enjoy all this. You deserve it. Jake’s safe, Bex is on the committee. I feel as if we’re finally settling in here.”
“You’re not staying?” I can’t keep the disappointment from my voice.
“Sorry, Bex. Places to be.”
“Friendly persuasion?” Dan nudges Charlie’s elbow.
“Friendly persuasion.” Charlie smiles, and waves as she heads for the door.
“Thanks, Charlie!” I shout after her.
“Real sandwiches!” Says Dan, as the door closes behind her, a hint of worship in his voice.
*****
Dan’s right. The sandwiches are amazing.
<
br /> We sit and eat the best lunch we’ve had in weeks. Dan gives us a lecture on the finer points of sandwich construction, and makes us give all the sandwiches marks out of ten.
It’s like being back at school, and for a moment I can forget what I’m doing here. It’s wonderful to sit down with my friends, with nowhere I need to be, and nothing I need to do. The sandwiches are good, and the chocolate cake is amazing.
I’m cutting myself a third slice of cake when the door slams open and Charlie rushes in, shouting. Her hair is a mess, and her T-shirt is on backwards, and it takes a moment to work out what she’s saying.
“The TV. Turn on the TV.”
Dan fumbles for the remote control.
“News channel. Any news channel.”
The door opens again and a dark-haired man I vaguely recognise follows her in, pulling a T-shirt over his head. He stops in the doorway, tugging the shirt down over his gym-toned chest, and holds up one hand.
“Hi,” he says, awkwardly, pulling a mobile phone from his pocket.
I’m raising my hand in response when Dan finds a news channel, and turns the volume up.
I glance at the screen, and the room drops away. All I can see are the images – a film crew running. Smoke and flames. Shouting. People on the ground, people staggering out of the smoke, blood on their faces. And behind them, landmarks I recognise.
I can’t move. I can’t speak.
I’m watching the bombing. The bombing I helped to plan. The bombing I voted for.
The bombing I supported, as the Face of the Resistance.
And it’s huge. There are buildings in flames. Pavements folded up and fallen away. Maximum destruction at a target no one can ignore.
This is it. This is our trigger attack.
And this is the blood on my hands.
Headlines
KETTY
“Perhaps you’d like to answer some of the questions I asked yesterday?”
“About my daughter and her violent tendencies?”
Bracken is in another meeting with Franks, and I’m reviewing Elizabeth’s interrogation footage on the TV in his office.
Fighting Back (Battle Ground YA UK Dystopia Series Book 4) Page 22