What the worldwide audience didn’t realise is that behind closed doors Bashar Assad was an open talking and reasonable family man. He was certainly no fool and wasn’t prepared to be bullied by western leaders who had no idea how to rule an Arab country. Only he and his fellow leaders of such nations knew that to control a passionate and religious race required an iron fist. As a leader you could not be seen to be soft. Fools were not tolerated and as soon as people gained a free voice trouble soon followed. Being, or at least being seen to be an oppressor was the only way and rule breakers were harshly punished. Away from the prying eyes and cameras Bashar remained the educated man. His confidence sometimes bordered on delusion but his ears were open to advice from those close to him. In twenty minutes he would meet with Mohammed and Mustafa once again to discuss the response from leaders of both Arab and western countries. Mustafa still had the president’s ear but Mohammed was doing his best to convince the president that all out civil war was the only way to extinguish the rebellious flames of hope.
Asma Assad very rarely got involved in her husband’s running of the country and today was no exception. Born in Acton, London she was as aware as Bashar was of how the western world, in particular Britain viewed the way in which Arab leaders ruled their countries. Dictators and oppressor they were often called but knew the countries of Europe ruled theirs in a very similar way. The difference being the likes of Cameron and Sarkozy could use their stranglehold on the people’s money and finances. Bashar would angrily defend his use of violence on his own people to keep them in order, but would then watch with a smile on his face the pictures of the English police being ordered by the Government to control and beat protesters on the streets of London, especially when they were labelled as students.
“You see Mustafa when I do this I am called a dictator. When Cameron does this it is called necessary. Let us see Cameron step aside if his people stood on the streets with weapons and banners wanting him to leave” Mohammed would nod and clench his fist, an evil and determined look on his face.
As Mustafa and Mohammed entered the large palatial room, Bashar stood to take the documents off them. They were faxes and reports of the situations developing all over Syria from his army generals and Baath party representatives. They left Asma to watch television before she would be flying on a private jet with her three children, their nanny and security to Dubai to meet friends and shop. She held some interest in the politics of the country but in general she kept her distance unless asked by Bashar himself. In times like these she would be in constant contact with Bashar in case he needed her to flee the country with the children, a plan that was well rehearsed. Assad and his colleagues entered one of many offices in the presidential palace where various other members of the ruling party were talking and discussing issues relating to the crisis that to the outside world was crippling the country. To the rulers and governors of Syria of course, it was a problem that they felt sure could be sorted by use of force and a strong hand. They were still outnumbered by the men who agreed with Mustafa that the crisis could be sorted by negotiating with the west and letting in the United Nations observers to prove that the rebels were the antagonists and not Assad. As soon as the west realised that the country was just defending itself from hostile groups being supported by Al Qaeda then perhaps they would support the country.
Bashar Assad took his seat at the head of the large marble, oval table bringing silence to the room. Dressed like a western leader in a tailored suit he waved his arms indicating that he wished the discussions to continue and he would listen. As he did this, Mustafa showed him the letter he had received a few months earlier when relationships with the west were tangible. It was regarding a visit to Downing Street to discuss trade relations alongside a representative from Russia. As much as there was distrust for Assad’s “regime”, effort was being put in to encourage Syria to come to the table to enhance their relationship with the rest of the world and to avoid possible trade sanctions. Most other Arab leaders in Assad’s position would now refuse such an offer but Bashar was clever. He knew there was no point in shutting his country off to world politicians even if he didn’t want the press and what he called do-gooders interfering and perhaps seeing things he didn’t want them to see. To keep a hand on the table and show them that they were not hiding would go some way to keeping Cameron, Obama and Kofi Annan sweet. What Assad also knew was that this was a secret meeting and Mustafa would be in and out due to Cameron not wanting the British public to know they were sitting at the same table as so called murdering oppressors. Mohammed smiled as Bashar nodded to Mustafa indicating to him that he should make the arrangements for himself and some of his staff to fly to London within the next few weeks. At last Mohammed would have the president’s ear to himself. Assad’s defence minister Doud Rajiha also sensed this was an opportunity not to be missed as he watched Mustafa agree to Bashar’s request. He would talk with Mohammed at the first opportunity and with Assad’s brother in law Assed Shawkat, who was also backing Mohammed’s way of thinking they could persuade their leader to turn the screw on the rebels who to them were embarrassing the country.
*
Ron Bostock sat and listened as the meeting slowly came to an end. As well as being a murderer and a man with little regard for anything he could also play the part of a politician and an advisor. His place wasn’t at the table amongst the shouters, the people with ideas and the negotiators. It was in the shadows listening to Cameron and Clegg argue out opposite ideals on how the country was going to claw its way out of the recession and quagmire it was in. The typists for both leaders tapped away furiously trying to keep up, recording every word. Bostock smiled to himself as next to them were two other members of staff holding voice recorders also recording every word. As he sat and listened to the debate on the newspaper debacle that was now intriguing the country involving the tapping of phones by the news of the world newspaper, Bostock was approached by one of his assistants. The suited woman of about thirty years of age leant in close so she could whisper quietly into his ear. As she left, Bostock smiled to himself again. Without saying a word he immediately stood up and left the meeting. By the time he had reached the corridor his phone was pressed up to his ear.
“Hi Jim, the meeting is on. We need to prepare”
*
The morning sun was shining through the open window onto the floor of the lounge as Wyre suddenly woke from a deep sleep. An intense dream had him fighting to discover where the voice was coming from that was calling his name. The silence that comes when you enter the real world from a dream you thought so real had Wyre just sitting and staring in to space, his mind slowly waking and trying to remember what had happened the night before. He felt rested for the first time in a while and stretched his arms up and arched his back then fell back onto the sofa and let the warm sun bathe his naked upper torso. Even though he was still reluctant to probe Alex’s past too much in case he wouldn’t like what he found, it still gave Wyre peace of mind to have this guy on his side. As long as he was near Wyre and Oliver they could relax ever so slightly and lower their defences. It showed as Wyre rubbed his eyes and enjoyed the heavy weight of drowsiness smothering him.
“Wyre! Wyre!” shouted the voice once again, except this time it was real and coming from upstairs. His mind was now debating whether to react to the voice or sit and wait in case he heard it again. With his head still feeling heavy, Wyre made his way to the stairs and again the voice shouted his name, this time sounding more urgent forcing him to ascend the stairs two at a time. It was coming from Oliver’s bedroom and in no time at all Wyre’s mind was alert and racing.
“Oh shit!” Wyre gasped, as the sight of Alex doing compressions on Oliver’s chest confronted him as he entered the room.
“What the fuck is happening?” asked Wyre, taking a few seconds to gather himself and remember he was a doctor and by now should be instructing Alex, not the other way around.
“I found him in convulsions on the floor�
��…almost like he was fitting……then this” explained Alex.
It was like a switch going on as Wyre quickly took on his normal role. First he checked Oliver’s pulse and even though Alex had already done this, he let Wyre go through the motions. There was still nothing.
“Keep going Alex! How long have you been trying?” Wyre shouted as he jumped up, left the room and ran across the landing of the house.
Alex never questioned Wyre and knew he would be back as quick as he could.
“My stopwatch says six minutes. Come on Oliver I’m not letting that bastard take you as well” said Alex as he pushed down as light as he could on Oliver’s chest without breaking any ribs or causing more damage. Placing his mouth over Oliver’s, he blew three mouthfuls of air into the boy’s lungs. Wyre could be heard running back across the house and he burst back into the bedroom carrying a defibrillator in an armoured box. Ripping the box open Wyre grabbed the pads, one in each hand, checked the setting then ordered Alex to move clear.
“There is enough charge for one attempt then you will have to plug them in to that socket over there” instructed Wyre.
Taking a deep breath and trying to forget this was his son he was trying to save, Wyre placed the pads on Oliver’s chest. The sound of the shock hitting Oliver’s body then the sight of it nearly leaving the floor had Wyre gasping. He knew that it was dangerous to be using these on a child so young but he had no choice. He would have about three attempts before he might start causing internal damage. Alex checked the pulse but there was still nothing. He turned around and plugged it into the wall to power it up. Wyre waited for the red light to stop flashing then the green light to come on then tried again. Oliver’s back arched up from the floor then landed back down with a thud. Again Alex tried the pulse and shook his head. Leaning in towards the boy, Alex whispered into his ear forcing a lump of emotion into Wyre’s throat.
“Come on Oliver your daddy needs you, don’t give up”
Wyre again made sure Alex was clear before he placed the pads on the body again for possibly the last time. This time Wyre held them on longer forcing Oliver’s body to arch for an age and contort with the strain of the electricity surging to his heart. Holding his breath he watched as Alex checked the pulse. There was silence and calm in the room as Wyre waited to see his response.
“Fuck it!” Alex gasped forcing Wyre to check for himself. There was nothing. Showing no emotion Wyre again jumped up and disappeared along the landing. This time Wyre re-entered the room carrying what looked like a surgical kit. Opening it up Wyre pulled out various scalpel’s tongs and what looked like a miniature grinder.
“We need to get in there and massage his heart” said Wyre calmly as he was now in full-on doctor mode.
Feeling for the right part of the chest and rib cage to cut Wyre placed the scalpel onto the skin. Alex watched while still checking the pulse as the sharp point pierced the skin causing a tiny pool of blood to appear on the surface. As emotionally cold as Richards was, even he was struggling with what he was about to witness. This shouldn’t be happening to this innocent five year old boy who only had months to live. If Wyre had not been so distracted he would have seen for the first time on the detectives face a look of emotion and concern for a boy he hardly knew but genuinely cared for.
“Wait Wyre!” ordered Alex grabbing Wyre’s wrist.
Wyre held his breath as Alex first kept his fingers on the neck then moved his head to the heart.
“He’s got a pulse”
Wyre placed the tools down onto the floor and checked for himself.
“Right we need to get him to the hospital as soon as possible” demanded Wyre.
An outpouring of emotion then came as Wyre re-confirmed the pulse in his son’s neck. He carefully picked up his son off the floor and cradled the lifeless but now shallow breathing body. Grasping him close to his chest Wyre stood up then carried his son down the stairs to Alex’s car. Still clutching Oliver, Wyre climbed into the back seat sobbing at the realisation of how close he had come to losing his son and possibly having to do open heart surgery on him. Alex pulled the car off the drive and drove foot flat to the floor, as fast as the traffic would allow him to the hospital. Wyre gathered himself and rang Dr Montgomery explaining what had happened.
“Go straight to A&E Alex he will have a party waiting for us. Thank you Alex!”
As Alex drove he could see in the mirror the love in Wyre’s face for his son. As both Doctor and father, Wyre now studied the boy and tried to comprehend what had just happened.
“Are you ok Wyre?” asked a concerned Alex.
Wyre nodded but his expression could be seen growing darker. Alex could see that this had pushed Wyre over the edge. His eyes betrayed him and no matter how hard Wyre fought the idea of carrying a weapon on the pretence of using it, Alex could tell he had turned a corner. The look in Wyre’s eyes was a look Alex had seen too many times. It was a look filled with vengeance and determination. Alex knew what question Wyre would ask next and sure enough he delivered.
“I want that browning pistol back Alex”
In no time at all they had reached the hospital and there waiting by the automatic doors of the A&E were the staff Dr Montgomery had asked for. Placing Oliver on the trolley they wheeled him in to a private recovery room to monitor and perform more tests that would hopefully help determine what had caused this near death experience. Wyre attempted to follow them but Alex stopped him.
“It’s ok Wyre, he’s in good hands. We can wait here right outside the room”
They both sat and took deep breaths as Wyre turned to face Alex.
“I meant what I said earlier. I want that browning back”
It was then Dr Montgomery appeared around the corner dressed in the same tweed suit he had worn the other day. Nodding at them both he peered through the window to check on the patient. The doctor inside the room nodded indicating Oliver was ok and Montgomery turned to face Wyre and Alex.
“He will be fine Wyre. Please come with me both of you. I have this on me in case anything happens Wyre” the doctor said showing his pager on his belt.
They both followed the doctor along the corridors to his room. On entering, Montgomery immediately poured himself a whisky and offered them both a glass. Alex refused but Wyre took the glass and knocked it straight back. He shook his head as the whisky bit his senses. Montgomery nodded in approval.
“It’s strange how things happen isn’t it. I was going to call you today Wyre to discuss Oliver’s test results”
“Do you have them?” asked Wyre eagerly.
“Yes………….but they’re inconclusive I’m afraid……….the strangest thing I’ve ever seen if you don’t mind me saying” said the doctor almost apologising to Wyre for his lack of progress. ”I was going to call you to ask your permission to do more invasive tests but after this well…………we shall have to see. If he recovers from this quick enough maybe a blood transfusion”
“The drug that is in Oliver’s system, would it have caused all this?” asked Wyre.
The doctor seemed as confused as they were as he shrugged his shoulders.
“What I can tell you is what’s not in Oliver’s system” replied Montgomery. “You said you found other victims that had been turned to drug addicts. Heroin, cocaine, crystal methadone, none of these were found in the boys system. You say he went into a state of fit and had convulsions well maybe whatever is in his system is reacting with the medication he is taking for his leukaemia. What we are concentrating on at the moment is why he is getting physically better and not necessarily what was put in his system. They might seem like the same thing but we can do different tests and use different drugs once we know it won’t react and cause him more stress”
Wyre paced the room with one arm across his stomach and the other one resting on it and stroking his chin. He now looked the professional doctor trying to solve the problem that had been presented to him. The sandy coloured shirt he wore had been on for thre
e days and was creased and covered in stains. Both Wyre and Alex looked like two men on the run with their unshaven faces and well-worn clothes, Alex’s suit looking uncharacteristically dishevelled. Their lives were being lived in the shadows, in fear of an appearance from Ron Bostock but more importantly keeping Oliver safe. It wasn’t the fact they didn’t want to meet him, quite the opposite. Their priority was to protect Oliver but now it looked like he would most likely stay in hospital for a while, now could be their chance to do a bit of investigative work. Wyre jumped out of his thoughts at the sound of bleeping noise. Assuming it was Montgomery’s pager he immediately headed for the door but the doctor shook his head.
“It’s ok Wyre it’s me!” said Alex taking his phone out of his pocket.
“Right! OK! In two weeks, thanks Omar!”
Alex immediately turned to Wyre after ending the call with searching look on his face.
“What is it?” asked Wyre.
“My contact in the Syrian government, I asked him to contact me when the date would be set for your meeting with a representative at Downing Street………..”
“My invite from Assad”
“Apparently you will be told the details in a few days by one of their guys. Omar can be trusted and he tells me they are sending one of Assad’s advisors over to discuss diplomatic relations with Cameron and some Russian government guys to do a handshake with you and other representatives to thank you for your work there”
BEYOND THE SPRING Page 20