“The blockade? At the ports?” He sounds as if he’s trying to jog my memory. He thinks he’s telling me something I already know. I shake my head, reaching for the milk in the fridge.
“I thought we had that under control. I thought the Navy was handling it.”
“Bracken really hasn’t told you?”
I slam the milk carton down on the work surface.
“Told me what, David?”
He takes half a step back, holding his hands up in front of him. The smirk is back on his face.
“How bad it is.”
I roll my eyes, pour the milk and put the carton back in the fridge. I don’t want to play his game, but I need to know the truth.
I make myself keep talking.
“How bad is it?”
“We’re under siege, Ketty. Nothing’s getting out, and nothing’s getting in.”
I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts.
“The Dutch Navy isn’t big enough to block everything.”
“It’s not just the Dutch.” Conrad reaches past me to the coffee, and puts a spoonful in his own cup.
It’s not just the Dutch?
I don’t want to talk to Conrad. I don’t want to have friendly conversations with him in the kitchen. I don’t want to be distracted by his beautiful eyes and his gorgeous smile.
But I need to know what he knows.
“OK, David. Who is it? Whose Navy is big enough to blockade all our ports?”
He shrugs. “It’s everyone.”
I put my hand on the work surface to steady myself.
“What do you mean?” I ask, slowly.
“It’s Scotland, It’s France, It’s Germany, It’s Norway …”
I hold up one hand. “Working together?”
He nods. “Working together.”
They could win. They could starve us out, they could invade, and they could win.
“How long do we have?”
He waves a hand. “Oh, ages. We’ll run out of some things soon, but we can hold out for a long time. Plenty of tinned food in the stockpiles.” We waves his hand. “We’ll come to an agreement with them before they’re ready to attack.” He grins.
“Won’t people notice?” I glance at the mugs. “What happens when the coffee runs out?”
“Franks is talking about rationing …”
“Rationing?” I can’t help shouting.
He waves his hand again. “Don’t be so dramatic. It won’t be everything. Just the things we have to import.”
“So what’s your plan, Corporal? Keep talking to the invading hordes, and hope that people don’t notice?”
He grins again.
“Distraction. Keeping them entertained.”
The trial. Margaret’s trial.
“And after tomorrow?” I can’t help smirking. “What will you do when you’ve executed your main distraction?”
“Plenty more prisoners in the cells, Ketty.”
He leans past me again to flick the kettle switch and pour the water into his mug.
He’s right. There are. Elizabeth Ellman, Craig Dewar, William Richards. The other terrorists from Makepeace Farm.
I lean back against the work surface and fold my arms.
“So they’ll all get show trials?”
He nods. “Keep the public watching what we want them to watch, and they won’t notice what’s going on.”
“And tomorrow? How many people will be in London tomorrow for your show trial?”
The trial I was supposed to be running. The trial I’m going to miss, while I’m sitting outside a Terrorism Committee meeting.
He shrugs. “A hundred thousand? Two?” He reaches for his mug. “We’ve got screens in St James’s Park, and more in Trafalgar Square and Hyde Park. There are coaches coming in from all over the country.”
I can’t help looking impressed.
“And who’s making sure they all behave themselves?”
“You mean apart from the bars and the streetfood and the other distractions?” I nod. “Home Forces, mostly. RTS. The Army’s busy at the ports, so we’re the ones in charge.”
“Is your team up to that, David? After what happened on the South Bank …”
“My team has everything under control.” His voice is frosty.
Don’t want to be reminded that it was you who gave the weapons to the South Bank Bombers, David?
And I realise. Part of me wants him to fail again. This was my event. This was my trial, until Lee took it away from me.
Part of me wants David to make another mistake.
Part of me wants trouble at the trial.
I turn away and pick up the mugs of coffee. Bracken and Lee will be wondering where I am.
“There is one thing …”
I turn back to Conrad.
“What?” My impatience is obvious.
“Lee hasn’t managed to get Margaret to talk.”
“Of course he hasn’t.” I can’t help smiling. I hope I sound smug.
Conrad looks at his coffee cup, cradled in his hands.
“I wondered if you had any more footage. Anything else we could use.”
Are you asking me for help?
I stare at him for a moment.
“What do you want, Corporal? My secret footage of Margaret confessing to everything? Confiding in me about all the attacks she’s masterminded?”
He shrugs.
“Anything, Ketty. Anything you can think of.”
I lean towards him, raising my voice.
“There’s nothing, Corporal. She hasn’t spoken, and she won’t speak. You’ve got everything she’s ever said to the camera. She’s a tough kid, and she’s going to beat you on this.” I’m frustrated with the progress we’ve made with Margaret, but I can’t help laughing at Conrad. I couldn’t break her, but neither can he.
And it’s his job to make the trial a success.
His job. Not mine.
And I don’t need to help.
Unless …
I put the mugs down on the work surface.
“Do you have the footage I recorded with Lee? Where he asks about her family?” He nods, watching me carefully.
This is your chance. This is your ticket to the trial.
“Get me a backstage pass, and I’ll give you the footage you need.”
He gapes at me. “How?”
“Backstage pass, David.”
He stares at me, and then nods. “Fine, fine.”
“Now.”
“OK.”
I follow him out of the kitchen, leaving my mugs of coffee on the side.
*****
“So what’s your plan?”
I look at the backstage pass in my hands. My name, my details. Signed by Conrad.
I can take myself down, during the meeting. One of the guards can cover for me. With the backstage pass I can get from the conference room, into the crowd, and back again before they’ll miss me.
It’s risky, but I get to watch. I get to see what happens to the person who nearly cost me my job. What happens to the tough kid who dodged the RTS. Who ran away with her teacher, and joined the terrorists rather than joining us.
Lee doesn’t get to take this from me.
I nod towards the screen. “Play the footage.”
Lee, off to one side in his chair. Margaret, facing the camera.
“Ready for your big day?”
No reaction from the prisoner.
“Can you find the part where she’s reacting? Where she’s shaking her head?”
Conrad glances at me, then skips the footage forward.
“There. Now go back and play the question.”
He moves the footage back.
“Nothing you want to say to them?”
Margaret shakes her head.
He pauses the footage. “I don’t see …”
“Whats she shaking her head too, David?”
“Lee’s question?” He sounds confused.
“Right. So what i
f we dubbed in a new question?”
He stares at the screen, a smile spreading across his face.
“Oh, that’s good, Ketty. That’s genius.”
“So, let’s get Lee to ask whether she regrets joining the terrorists. Whether she regrets wiping out Leominster. She reacts again, a bit later.”
He plays the next section. She glances quickly at Lee, and tears run down her face.
“That’s the Leominster question.”
He nods, watching her sob, and regain control.
“And something about how many people she’s killed, there at the end.”
He pauses the image: Margaret staring, expressionless, into the camera.
I didn’t need to break you. I just needed to out-think you.
We’ve got our clip for the trial.
*****
I hurry back to the kitchen. The coffee is cold, so I pour it away and make two fresh mugs, then carry them back to the office, my pass in my pocket and my folder tucked under my arm.
Lee opens the door when I knock, and waves me inside.
“Have your desk back, Corporal,” he says, taking one of the mugs.
I put the other mug on Bracken’s desk, and sit down at my own.
Lee whispers a few words to Bracken as I take the papers from my folder.
I glance up at the screen on the wall. They’ve been watching something. There’s no sound, but the images look like a news broadcast. There’s no badge or channel logo visible, but the screen shows a helicopter view of a port. There’s a Union Jack flying over the harbour, but out to sea there are ships.
Warships. Thirty or forty of them.
And they’re not ours.
My breath catches in my throat, as I count five – no, six – different flags.
Conrad was right. It’s not just the Dutch Navy.
It’s everyone.
They could invade, and they could win.
My small victory over Margaret, over Conrad, fades. It doesn’t matter what I do here. Who I help, who I support.
If those governments decide to move against us, I’m wearing the wrong uniform.
I can feel my pulse racing. I press my hands against the desk to stop them shaking.
Find a way out, Ketty. You don’t want to be on the losing side.
Departure
Bex
“You slept?”
Dan sounds incredulous. He shakes his head, and takes another mug of coffee from Charlie. He looks pale, and the bags under his eyes look like bruises.
“She was snoring all night.” Amy nudges my elbow, and picks up another piece of her armour.
It’s true. I slept better than I have since we arrived in London.
For the first time, I know what’s expected of me. For the first time, I have a chance to save Margie, and Mum. I have a chance to put right the mistakes I’ve made. And there are people standing with me, making all this possible.
For the first time, I’m hopeful. I’m allowing myself to believe that we can do this.
I’m allowing myself to believe that we can win.
Dan picks up the last of his armour, and I help him clip the panels to his arm.
“You didn’t sleep?”
He shakes his head again.
I put my hand on his shoulder, and wait for him to meet my eyes.
“This is it, Dan. This is our chance.” He looks away, but I don’t let him move. I lower my voice to a whisper. “Margie needs you, Dan. She needs you awake and thinking straight.” He closes his eyes, and nods. “Drink your coffee. Eat something.” He shakes his head. “I’ll check your gun.”
He sits down on one of the ballroom chairs, coffee mug in his hands. I pick up his rifle, and run the pre-combat checks we learnt at Camp Bishop. I check the battery, and all the connections; the sights, the clips and the grips. I check that it’s loaded.
“Are these AP bullets?” He nods. “And you’ve got spare APs?” I point to the magazines clipped to his belt.
“They’re all Armour Piercing, Bex.” He sounds tired, and he sounds afraid.
“Good.” I hold out the rifle. “Everything’s working. You’re ready, Dan.” He takes the gun, and rests it on his knees, but he doesn’t respond.
I hate seeing him like this. Dan is the person who has my back. In all the time we’ve been running from the RTS, he’s stood with me. He’s believed in me. He’s been brave with me, and he’s killed people to keep me safe.
I can’t lose him now. Not when Margie’s life depends on us.
He’s right to be afraid. There are so many things that could go wrong today. Any one of us could be killed, or captured. The Home Forces could stop us before we can reach Margie. They could stop us before we reach any of our targets.
We could fail.
And our friend will die.
But we can’t walk into battle thinking about what we might lose. We need to be brave, and we need to believe in ourselves. We need to believe in each other.
I kneel down in front of him, the plastic panels of my armour clicking on the wooden floor.
“Dan.” He looks at me, and all I can see is the pain in his eyes. His fear that we might not save her.
He needs me. He needs me, and Amy, and Charlie, and Maz. He needs to know that we’re standing with him.
“You’re ready, Dan. You can do this. We can do this.” I take the empty mug from his hands and put it on the floor. I reach out and take his gloved hands in mine. “This isn’t all on you. It’s not your responsibility to save her. This is on all of us, and we’re all here.”
He looks around at the ballroom. At tables, covered in crates of armour, sent with us by the Scottish government. At OIE staff, trained to fight during our last weeks in Edinburgh, dressing themselves in the black panels and helmets. At Amy and Charlie and Maz, checking their guns and clipping ammunition to their belts.
And he nods.
“I know. I just …”
“You’re thinking about everything that could go wrong.” He nods. “Then don’t. Think about what happens if everything goes right.”
The ghost of a smile appears on his face, but he shakes his head. “I don’t dare, Bex. It’s too hard.”
I stand up from the floor and wrap my arms round his shoulders. “I need you to be brave. Margie needs you to be brave. Think about what happens if we win.”
He sits still for a moment, then reaches up and hugs me back. When I pull back, there’s a new look in his eyes. He’s almost smiling, and I can see determination on his face.
“We’re going to make this work,” he says, and there’s surprise in his voice.
I smile back. “We’re going to make this work.”
*****
There’s a fleet of cars waiting in the service yard when Fiona sends us out of the hotel. All the local resistance fighters, driving up in their family cars and people carriers, ready to take us to Whitehall.
It’s a crazy plan, but it’s simple. All these mismatched cars, everyday vehicles that might belong to anyone, will take us to the roads around Whitehall. We’ll group together and we’ll walk in, posing as routine patrols. We’ll use our armour to get past the guards, and the trial as our distraction. By the time the Home Forces see what’s happening, the backup forces will be behind us.
Neesh and her rebel fighters are already in place, waiting for us to make our move. All we have to do is follow the plan.
Fiona sends us to a 7-seater van parked near the road. We climb in – Dan, Amy, Charlie, Maz, and me. The driver turns and gives us a smile.
“The Face of the Resistance, in my car.” He shakes his head. “This is a big responsibility. I’ll be careful – I promise!”
“Thanks, mate,” says Maz, covering my angry silence. “We appreciate it.”
We balance our guns and helmets on our knees, and shuffle in our seats so that we’re not elbowing each other with our armour panels. There are cuddly toys in the seat-back pockets, and brightly coloured child-friendly sun scre
ens attached to the windows. This vehicle wasn’t designed for a troop of soldiers, and it suddenly seems absurd to be sitting here, waiting for the driver to take us to war in his family car.
Charlie slides the door closed, and I feel as if she’s trapped us inside. It feels dark and cramped and dangerous in here, and I can feel my panic rising.
I close my eyes tight, and take a long, deep breath. And another. I need to be calm, and I need to be ready.
Dan reaches across from his seat and takes my hand. When I turn to smile at him, I can see that he’s fighting the same feelings. We’re trapped, and we’re under someone else’s control.
But this isn’t like the helicopter, carrying us to Scotland. This isn’t like the cars that picked us up after the raid on the bunker.
We’re not being driven to safety. We’re being driven into danger, and Dan’s right – this is our only chance.
The driver starts the engine, and the doors lock. I grip Dan’s fingers, and he squeezes mine back. As we pull away from the hotel, I wonder whether any of us will be coming back.
I start to feel alive as the car turns a corner and leaves the safe house behind. I feel as if I’ve lit a fire inside my chest. I feel as if I’ve crawled out of a cocoon – as if I’m a new creature, brave, and ready to fight. As if all the training we’ve done and all the preparations we’ve made are part of another life, falling away behind me.
As if all that counts is today. As if this is everything I’ve been living for.
No one speaks as we drive towards Whitehall, and Margie.
PIN
Ketty
I send Bracken into the Terrorism Committee meeting, and sit down outside the room. Since the last meeting, someone’s set up a desk for me in the corridor, and there’s a TV on the wall opposite. I guess I’m not the only runner who has to sit here while the conference room is in use.
I put my document bag down on the desk, and switch the TV on, flicking through the channels until I find PIN. Everyone in the conference room is enjoying a view of the backstage area in Horse Guard’s Parade, but PIN is showing the front of the stage, and the crowds. The platform is huge – like the stage for a music festival, draped in black cloth and lit with bright spotlights. Conrad was right – there are thousands and thousands of people here, waiting to see Margaret Watson confess to her crimes.
Victory Day (Battle Ground YA UK Dystopia Series Book 5) Page 4