“What the hell,” he said bringing them over to the others, “if there’s going to be a civil war, I might as well be on the same side as the people I like.”
Matlock gave him a narrow glance as he made this oblique pledge of loyalty, but Lizzie flung her arms round his neck and nearly sent the drinks flying.
“Oh, Colin. That’s marvellous. That’s lovely. It wouldn’t be the same without you. Now it’s the four of us. The same as before. As always. Isn’t it, Matt?”
No, thought Matlock, no it isn’t, my darling, and I doubt if it ever can be again. But it’s better than it might have been.
And with a slight contraction of his forearm muscle he eased back up his sleeve the hand force-gun which the Abbot had pressed upon him the day before. He had not taken it to the Embassy the previous night. Now he would not be without it again.
“Thank you, Colin,” he said as he took his drink, and pushed to the back of his mind the thought that Colin might have noticed the small but menacing arm-movement as he set off across the room.
Would I have fired? Matlock asked himself. Who knows?
But he realized he knew very well and his glass was the longer at his lips because of the sudden knowledge.
It was nearly lunchtime so they made a rapid meal out of the contents of Matlock’s fridge, then settled down to work out a plan of action. As their normal discussion pattern unfolded — Ernst the lover of words; Colin the thoughtful and analytical one; Lizzie the recorder, and the realist; himself the chairman — Matlock began to realize just how conditioned they had been by the environment provided for them for so many years. His own growing uncertainties must have stemmed in part from a feeling of repetitiveness, of substituting activity for action. Now they were finding it strangely difficult to make any headway along the new avenues which had opened up. Ernst and Colin were soon locked in a disagreement which became progressively more theoretical, less particular.
Lizzie said nothing but watched Matlock who sat with a strange and complete stillness that was not unfamiliar. She recalled with a slight shock that this had been a characteristic of his in the days when she first knew him, before his separation from the springs of power had been complete.
Now the wheel has turned she thought. It pulled him under, but now he’s up on the other side, still clinging, and rising again. It’s a long circle to make twice.
Matlock turned his gaze on her as if he had caught her unspoken musings.
I wonder what has changed in me, she thought. And whether it can change back. Whether I want it to.
She smiled at him, but he did not accept the invitation to intimacy. Instead he turned and, in a perfectly normal tone of voice, he cut right through the heated discussion which filled the room, halting it in mid-sentence.
“Here’s what we’ll do,” he said. “We must for the time being come to terms with the Abbot. He is the only contact I have so far with this alleged underground movement whose spiritual leader I seem to be. I do not trust the Scots, begging your pardon, Lizzie. And I cannot know how much we need their help till I have some better idea of our own strength. The only other group we’ve had any positive contact with is the anonymous lot who tried to kill me yesterday. At least my relationship with them is straightforward. ”
“What about Browning?” asked Lizzie. The other two were sitting very still.
“Browning is still waiting for my answer. I’m surprised he hasn’t contacted me already. But he will do soon if I don’t contact him first. I have no illusions about the man — once he knows I haven’t accepted his offer, he’ll carry out his threats against all of us. He hasn’t got where he is by meaningless promises.”
“So what do we do?”
“I accept. Or at least indicate I will accept when I meet him tomorrow afternoon.”
“That’ll get you nowhere, Matt. He’ll have you in front of the television cameras in thirty seconds. Whatever standing or influence you have in these revolutionary circles would be wiped out in a moment. This is something you can’t bluff over.”
Matlock looked approvingly at Ernst.
“You’re right, of course. But I’ve no intention of trying to bluff, at least not longer than tomorrow morning. Browning cannot see me till tomorrow afternoon, he’s opening a trade conference in Manchester in the morning, that’s a piece of useful information I picked up last night. But the Abbot can see me in the morning. We have an arrangement. He foresaw that this might be necessary. We’re going to go underground, all of us.”
They took the news with a pleasing calmness, though whether this was due to the inevitability of the decision or their slow recognition of all its implications Matlock could not tell. Abruptly he stood up.
“Meeting’s over. Go your ways now. Act normally, but stop by your ’phones tomorrow morning till you hear from me.”
“Matt,” said Colin slowly, “you mean we’re going to go into hiding, just turn our backs on our lives? For how long, Matt, how long?”
“Till Budget Day, you fool,” laughed Ernst who seemed to have been elated by the prospect of action. His eyes were sparkling and a smile played constantly around his lips.
“That’s right,” agreed Matlock. “Till Budget Day. Till Browning takes the step which will instantly unite all the forces of discontent, strengthen the waverers, confirm the doubters. He has to do it or the bottom falls out of the Economy. He has to lower the E.O.L. a couple of points at least. Then it all starts, Colin, and we have to be there. This is the only way to make sure.”
Colin said nothing in reply, but his long frame was stooped with melancholy as he unfolded slowly from his chair.
“I see how it is, Matt. I’ll expect to hear from you in the morning. Goodnight now.”
“Night?” laughed Ernst. “It isn’t four o’clock yet.”
“No, it isn’t,” said Colin. “Of course. Good-bye, Matt.”
He shook Matlock’s hand, a formal and uncharacteristic gesture.
Ernst followed him to the door, talking excitedly all the while.
“Matt,” he said, “you’re right to do it this way. This is the greatest thing that ever happened to us. We’ll take Browning apart.”
Lizzie said quietly underneath Ernst’s chatter, “Take care, Matt. I know I don’t need to tell you not to underestimate Browning. If what you say of the man is true, he’ll have every contingency covered as well. Possibly, including this one.” “I’m sure he will,” smiled Matlock. “Off you go too, darling. Buy something for your bottom drawer. You’ll probably be watched, so make it something that would suit a Cabinet Minister’s wife.”
“I wouldn’t know where to start looking, Matt.”
After they had all left, Matlock sat in deep thought for a while. Then he looked at his watch. It was coming up to two minutes to four. He picked up his ’phone and dialled a number. He heard the automatic linkage connect and the buzzer at the other end sound. He let it sound twice, then replaced his receiver.
So much for the Abbot, he thought. This next one requires a little more skill. Carefully he dialled again. “Matlock,” he said shortly when the answer came. A second later he felt the amplified resonance of Browning’s heartiest greeting vibrating in his ear.
“My dear Matt. I’d just about given you up. How nice of you to ’phone. Now what can I do for you?”
“I’d like to see you, Prime Minister.”
“But, of course. Now let me see. Can I fit you in tonight. Or would tomorrow do? Eh?”
He knows, thought Matlock. But he can’t. Remember, that’s part of his strength. Apparent omniscience.
“As you wish, Prime Minister.”
“Then tomorrow let it be, eh? It’ll have to be after lunch. I’m off North in the morning. Shall we say two-thirty here? Shall I send you another car, Matt? But you must promise to ride in it this time.”
“That would be kind of you.”
“Think nothing of it, old chap. Well, see you then. Cheery-bye.”
The ’phone
went dead. Matlock nursed it on his shoulder as he considered the interchange.
No curiosity. Not a trace. He had shown no curiosity at all. Supreme confidence? Or bluff? Or genuine unconcern?
Analysing Browning’s thought-processes was a pointless exercise, he had long ago decided. But it was with difficulty that he put it out of his head, and after a quiet evening spent listening to records and making certain small preparations for the next day, he needed a small hypo to put him to sleep and out of reach of the troublesome thoughts which pattered round the dome of his mind.
Tomorrow will tell, he thought banally as he fell asleep.
He was right. Tomorrow told.
He awoke with a thick, heavy head and glanced at his bedside clock. Instead he saw a pair of elegant shoes resting on the table. They were occupied. He followed the sweep of the neatly-trousered leg, the white shirt, the blue tie with the thin silver line. He ended by looking into the face of the police inspector who had called to investigate the force-gun shooting.
The man was sitting in an armchair and seemed to be asleep. Matlock began stealthily to edge to the side of the bed, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on the sleeping man’s face.
There was a cough from elsewhere in the room. He looked round. Seated on an upright chair by his dressing-table was a uniformed policeman with a gun resting in his lap.
The Inspector opened his eyes at the cough.
“Good-morning, Mr. Matlock. Now what the hell am I doing here, is the question you’re about to ask. Or how the hell did I get in? Well, technically we had to force an entry, but you’ll be pleased to know that we had keys and no damage has been done. As to why I’m here, Mr. Matlock, the answer’s simple. To protect you. And at ten a.m., which is now, to conduct you to the telephone. Better still we can conduct a telephone to you.”
He clapped his hands, the door opened and a constable came in bearing before him, like a butler with a tray, the telephone. Matlock saw through the open door that the living-room was full of cigarette smoke. And men.
The telephone was put down beside him, the Inspector rose and with a curt nod dismissed the constable and the man with the gun. He himself followed them, turning as he went through the door to say reassuringly, “Don’t worry. We’ll just be next door.”
Matlock slowly picked up the receiver.
“Matt! I hope I haven’t woken you. I’m just ringing to say don’t bother to come this afternoon. I’ll be a bit busy. Though actually I might have fitted you in this morning sometime. I didn’t go North after all. There’s been a bit of trouble up there. A lot of arrests; so I was probably better out of it. In any case, something came up, Matt. I’ve just come from the House. We’ve been in emergency session for a couple of hours. Incredible eh? They managed things better in your day. Well, the long and the short of it is, Matt, that as things turned out, I’ve had to bring in an emergency budget. Mind you, I often think that’s the best way. It cuts out speculation. But the really important thing, Matt, is that I’ve had to cut the E.O.L. Well, you knew I’d have to do that, didn’t you? So I did it. And I thought I’d let you know in case you missed it on the News.”
Matlock’s mouth was drier than even a drugged sleep warranted.
“What’s it down to Prime Minister?”
“In for a shilling, in for a pound, Matt. We’ve broken all records. We’re down to seventy. We’ve reached the Barrier, Matt. Are you listening, Matt? Hullo, are you still there?”
Matlock had no difficulty in drawing out the silence into the long dumbstruck pause he felt Browning expected. No difficulty at all.
Then, “I’m still here,” he said. “For a while. I’m still here for a while.”
“For a while, Matt? What do you mean? Oh yes. Of course. Your nearly seventy yourself, Matt, aren’t you? Two weeks time, I think. Or is it one and a half? I’m sorry about that, but we politicians can’t allow personal considerations to bend us from public duty. You should have accepted my offer the other day. But there it is. I’m afraid the post isn’t vacant any longer.”
“I thought that you were of sufficient stature not to gloat.”
There was an indignant snort from the other end of the line. Matlock was pleased to find he had recovered sufficiently to be able to admire its perfection.
“Gloating? Over what? No, what I rang to say was that I’ve been very worried about your safety since I heard someone took a shot at you. So I’ve decided to increase your protection and extra men have been detailed. They should be there now. Don’t worry about a thing, they’ll be keeping a very close watch. You deserve to live out your life in peace, Matt. The country owes you a lot. And by the way. Don’t bother to go down to the Heart Centre for your adjustment. I’m sending my own doctor round. You’ve earned a bit of privacy. Cheery-bye for now Matt.”
Matlock put the ’phone down and stared at the wall. The impact dents from the force gun looked like a pair of breasts, he thought. Perhaps I won’t have it repaired, just paint around them.
“I think you had better get up now, Mr. Matlock,” said the Inspector briskly from the door. “Have your brekkers before the Doc. comes.”
Matlock got up.
6
An hour later Matlock was fastening his shirt and the very young-looking Doctor was packing his portable adjuster.
“A lot of people would give a lot of money for one of those, Doc.,” laughed the Inspector who had watched the brief operation with keen interest.
“They would,” agreed the Doctor. “But there’s not much chance. They’d need me with it, and I have a wife and family. Or they’d need to cut this chain,” he indicated the fine silver thread which ran from the box to his wrist, “and then the whole thing blows up. Or even if they surmounted these obstacles, the thing can be blown up from the Heart Centre by radio. Shall I do you while I’m here, Inspector?”
The policeman drew back.
“I haven’t got my card with me.”
The Doctor tutted with disapproval.
“That’s an offence, you realize. Still you’ve got another day. I’ll be off now.”
As Matlock finished dressing he thought of the similar scenes going on all over the country, but mostly in the big Heart Centres. Everyone had to report within forty-eight hours to the nearest Heart Centre for readjustment, taking with them the simple metal card which had magnetically imprinted on it full age details of its owner. This was fed into a computer as the Master Adjuster Clock rapidly deducted the requisite number of years from the individual heart clock. The new information was printed on to the card, and the computer meanwhile checked the card against the previous information it held on the owner. If this tallied, the name was marked in its information banks. At the end of forty-eight hours, unmarked names were spewed out and the police went to work looking for those who did not report.
There were surprisingly few. The penalty for not reporting was a five-year cut in E.O.L. for each day’s lateness. After a week, the penalty was transferred to the next of kin.
But after a cutting Budget there was always unrest even if it was only atmospheric. There were more policemen than ever around the streets, temporary curfews were suddenly imposed, the Curfew Wagons tolled their way in sinister profusion through the scarcely dark streets.
After a cut like this, thought Matlock, they’ll need a general Curfew for a while. I should have foreseen it. Browning’s been a step ahead of everyone as usual.
He had viewed the news briefly. The main item had naturally been the emergency Budget. But there had also been a lot about the arrests in the North. No details were given, just references to a pool of insurrection. The implication was clear, however; only rapid action by the police had prevented extremists from full-scale outbreaks of violence. Things were under control at the moment, but close surveillance of the situation would be necessary for several days. Citizens were asked to go about their normal business, but to avoid going out more than was strictly necessary. God save the King.
It was good
, decided Matlock. It was very good. Just how many important arrests had been made, he didn’t know, but probably enough to throw a sizeable spanner in the works. But the masterstroke was to use this threat of violence from extremists as a way of getting the man-in-the-street to accept the Budget without too much outcry. Anything was better than bloodshed. The Brownings of the world had thrived on this credo ever since the capitalist system had burped up the middle classes.
Matlock was hardly at all disturbed to discover he had left it lying around somewhere in the debris of the past few days. What had happened this morning merely confirmed what was already certain in his mind — he had reached the point where he had to stop and say, “No further — no matter what”, or be swept into oblivion.
He left the bedroom and walked into the living-room. The Inspector ironically waved him ahead through the door. Matlock did not respond to the humour.
The number of policemen in the room had been reduced to three, with a further two stationed outside. The inside three were sitting at a table playing cards, but he was not deceived by their casualness. The drawn guns resting on their knees were not there to settle gambling quarrels in the old Western tradition. They were for him.
He indicated them with a gesture slight in itself, but enough to send three hands sliding under the table.
“Am I expected to feed them as well?”
“Don’t you think the State can afford to feed its loyal servants?”
“I doubt if this State can afford any kind of loyalty.”
The Inspector sank luxuriantly into Matlock’s favourite chair.
“I adore epigrammatic conversations. I’m going to enjoy these five weeks.”
“Five weeks?”
“Oh yes. I’ve been instructed to afford you every protection. No one is going to harm you, Mr. Matlock, be sure of that. But after five weeks you’re not going to need me any more. Unless there’s a boom. That’s the thing. You must put your hopes in greater productivity.”
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