by Jem Tugwell
‘See it’s much further.’
Clive’s HUD binged with a new message.
‘Crap,’ he said. ‘Bhatt wants us back in the conference room.’
He banged his hand on the desk.
‘With that bloody Grannum.’
***
Lance Grannum sneered across the conference room table.
Clive’s map with the four sets of lines and distances for each gamer was on the conference room display wall.
‘It’s a pretty picture,’ Lance said.
He leaned to his left and turned his head to say something to the DI sitting next to him. They talked for a few seconds, but Clive couldn’t hear what they said.
Lance straightened. ‘Well, it’s a nice, little theory, but we’ve discussed it before,’ he said, rubbing at the corner of his eye. ‘It’s plausible, but our conclusion is that a double strike on London is the game plan. Much more chaos and panic to hit London with a second bomb so soon after a first. More impact than a bomb in Wales.’
Lying bastard, thought Clive. They were locked in a London centric view of the world. Especially with the way Lance said Wales. He made it sound like some tinpot village.
Clive looked at Bhatt, hoping she would contradict Lance.
She didn’t. ‘This is Lance’s case,’ she said instead. She didn’t sound convinced.
Lance smiled. It looked as sincere as a lion inviting an antelope to dinner. ‘I do have good news. Terrorism needs all the hands it can get on this.’
Clive shifted in his chair and looked at Lance. Sure, the guy was nasty, but at least Clive would be on the case.
‘Ava,’ Lance said, ‘I’ve been very impressed with your work and attitude. I need excellent officers in and around Westminster, and you know a lot about the two remaining terrorists. Welcome to the team.’
Ava nodded, then looked at Clive. Her eyebrows arched high in a silent question.
The disappointment burned in Clive, taking him back to being picked last for the playground football matches. He forced a tight smile; she could handle herself now, so he nodded his approval.
Clive put his hands on the arms of his chair, getting ready to push himself up and out. Away from the humiliation.
‘Wait, Clive,’ Bhatt said and looked at Lance.
‘Sure. I said I needed everyone, and that apparently needs to include you, Lussac.’
Clive’s elation almost betrayed him, but he jammed his left leg up hard against the bottom of the table to stop a smile. ‘Great, I’ve got all the skills and experience to make a real impact.’
‘Yeah, right,’ Lance said, almost choking with laughter. ‘You hear this guy?’ he said to his DI. They shared a laugh. Then Lance continued, ‘That’s got nothing to do with it. I want dynamic officers that represent the people we are protecting, not some old dinosaur.’
‘Lance, that’s enough,’ Bhatt said. ‘You know the rules on bullying in the workplace.’
‘Ma’am,’ Lance said. As far as an apology went, it was pitiful. But it was all that he got.
Bhatt looked at Clive. ‘According to the Diversity in the Workplace laws and the latest anti-ageism rules, Lance doesn’t have anyone in the Terrorism department who represents white, heterosexual males over the age of fifty. Because of your recent birthday, you are now the top diversity score appointment in that category.’
‘I want to be picked because of my ability, not because of some bogus attempt at diversity,’ Clive said, unable to keep the moan out of his voice.
‘You can come to the team under diversity, or decline the appointment and stay in PCU,’ Lance said.
It should be about who can do the best job, not about scoring points, Clive thought.
He knew he should tell Lance to stuff it, but he needed to be part of this.
‘OK. I’ll come.’
Ava smiled and shot a playful elbow into Clive’s side.
‘Fine, Clive,’ Lance said. ‘I’ve got some really boring paperwork that’s got your name on it.’
Chapter 59
Clive looked at Lance. ‘Paperwork?’
‘Old boy like you should appreciate the importance of paperwork.’ Lance sat back and spread his hands. His smile hadn’t travelled north to reach his eyes.
Clive gripped the table. He could do without a professional misconduct charge for punching a senior office.
‘Thought so. Ava, you’ll get the full briefing back at New Scotland Yard.’
Ava rubbed her hands together before nibbling at her little finger. He couldn’t blame her for going. She would be in the centre of it. Part of a team to stop a terrorist attack on Parliament.
The corner of Lance’s mouth tipped up. ‘Clive, you can stay here. Zoe will send you the paperwork I need doing.’ Lance nudged his DI. ‘And the head of the busy PCU department can’t leave it unattended. Eh?’
Both Lance and his DI laughed.
‘Careful, Lance,’ Bhatt said.
‘Sorry, ma’am.’ Lance’s eyes danced with laughter. He was like a troublemaker at the back of a classroom causing mayhem and pretending to be sorry.
‘Thank you, Clive,’ Bhatt said.
Clive stood and walked to the conference room door, back straight, head high, hoping to make a dignified exit.
His head dropped as he shut the door.
Lance muttered something and laughed.
***
As Clive dawdled in the corridor on the way back to the PCU office, his Buddy appeared on his HUD carrying a large sack. Tips of envelopes peeked from the mouth of the sack, and Buddy staggered across Clive’s HUD under the weight of his load. He dropped the sack and unfurled a banner ‘Multiple large messages received’.
All the messages were from Zoe. He clicked on the first.
‘Sorry, Boss’, it started.
‘Fuck,’ Clive said, as he scrolled through the attachment. It was massive. Anger burned at Clive’s ears, it spread and his whole face glowed.
He clenched his hands, digging his nails deep into his palms.
Clive turned the corner of the corridor and stopped in the office’s snack area. The vending machine said: ‘Clive, my friend. What can I get you?’
‘Oh, fuck off,’ he screamed. According to the upgrade notice that had been sent while they were in Scotland, the ‘happy-go-lucky server personality upgrade will improve the customer experience by reaching out on a truly emotive level’.
Typical Employee Wellness double-talk bullshit, Clive thought.
‘“Fuck off” is in my database of abusive and bullying phrases. Your vicious, hurtful and wounding words have been sent to Employee Wellness to add to your file,’ the vending machine said.
Clive’s eye was drawn to a part of the mural painted on the machine’s side. Some trick his brain played on him turned four swirls of paint joining and twisting together into Lance’s nose.
‘Add this to my file,’ Clive said and smashed his hand into the machine on the tip of Lance’s nose. A hollow metal bong resonated and echoed in the snack area.
Clive pulled his hand out of the dent he had caused and rubbed his fingers, then shook his hand trying to dissipate the pain.
***
Clive reread the first part of the attachment from Zoe’s first message.
It was junior-level admin stuff. Basic, degrading and insulting for an inspector.
Clive closed the message. It wasn’t urgent.
The PCU office was quiet and private now Ava wasn’t here, so he touched his jaw to make a call. He was about to give up, but on the fifth ring, Sophia answered.
Joy surged through his body.
‘Clive, you need to stop with the messages,’ she said. ‘I can’t do this anymore. I need things more stable. I need someone more stable.’
His joy evaporated at her words. ‘But…’
‘Bye, Clive,’ Sophia said and hung up.
In the echoing silence of the office, Clive finished his sentence. ‘But, Sophia. I love you.’
&nb
sp; Tears rolled down his face. He told himself to stop but they kept coming. Wiping them away just spread the wet around his face.
He sniffed and dropped his head into his hands.
After a few minutes, he slowly raised his head. Sniffed loudly and used his sleeve to dry his face. He needed not to think about it. Not now anyway. He couldn’t face it, so he wrapped his feeling and thoughts about Sophia into a tight ball of denial. He squeezed it tighter and tighter until dumbness replaced his pain.
He sat in the silence.
Maybe this case would occupy him. Stop him thinking, stop him hurting. He nodded to himself and looked at his map again. He could see that there was some logic in attacking London twice, but to attack Scotland and Northern Ireland, but not Wales made no sense. If you attack all four centres, you attack the whole country, he thought.
He typed in a series of awkward finger stabs, wincing at each movement. His only regret was not hitting Lance himself. Clive’s message explained why Wales was a target, then attached the map to a message and sent it to the only person he could think of who might help direct some protection to Cardiff.
Zoe.
Clive looked again at the long stream of messages that Lance had made Zoe send.
He couldn’t face them. Instead, he looked at the grimy window of the PCU office, and late afternoon sun filtering in. He thought about quitting on the day, and heading to the warmth of the afternoon, but he only got as far as his bum coming off his chair before he dropped back down.
He couldn’t leave work early when everything was tracked, but it didn’t mean that he had to do Lance’s piss-take work.
Clive clicked onto a news channel, threw it at the office display wall and turned up the volume. The sound echoed in the empty office.
The familiar face of Issac Townsend looked at Clive from the display wall, before the TV programme’s director cut to the interviewer.
‘What can the Church of the New Modelists possibly do in these dangerous times? When there are terror attacks, how are you even relevant?’ the interviewer said, twisting a little hysteria into her voice to suit the producer’s editorial message.
‘In difficult times people rely on faith. The Church provides an umbrella of faith to our citizens that shelters them. It gives comfort in this fearful and uncertain world. The political elite sell fear to the masses. The media sells fear and fear allows control of the people, but the Church embraces the real issues. Humans are eating and polluting the world to the point of destruction. These so-called terror explosions are the beginning of the people rising against the tyranny of governments who talk about climate change, but do nothing.’
‘You’re saying that the Church is behind the attacks? Is this the work of the Ultras?’ The presenter prodded an accusing finger at Issac.
Issac didn’t rise to the bait. ‘The Church shows the true, righteous path. The path of minimal consumption leads to total health and constant peace of mind. We can start to save the world by adopting a stricter version of the Model Citizen and adopting a population control programme. The government knows this, but does nothing. The Ultras are committed to making this change.’
Chapter 60
The largest conference room in the New Scotland Yard building was packed with people. Not quite the sardine tin of a rush hour tube train, but close. Zoe was grateful that she still had a few millimetres of personal space towards the back of the room. If she stood on tiptoes, and the sea of heads aligned perfectly, then she could see Ava near the front.
She was struck by two overwhelming sensations: the heat, and the silence. How could so many people be so quiet?
They’d been waiting ten minutes for Chief Inspector Lance Grannum, and the heat had built with each passing minute. The temperature had travelled north, past comfortable, then clammy, staying briefly at uncomfortable before heading on to roasting. Sweat dribbled down Zoe’s back, sticking her shirt to her back. She drew her hand up, keeping it close to her chest to avoid touching the person in front of her, and dabbed the tissue onto her forehead. She reserved her hand’s movement and pushed the damp tissue into her pocket to join a few others.
Everyone was staring at the conference room’s display wall. Photos and profile details of Lilou and Tatsuko took up one half. The other half kept repeating the video of Femi’s hand exploding at Stormont, and the image from one of the scientists’ HUD as Sully’s game controller wiped out the entire team.
Usually a bit of dark humour would have circulated in the room to break the silence, but the images were too raw and shocking. They had all been bombarded with briefing messages stressing the importance of catching Lilou and Tatsuko before the scenes were repeated outside the Palace of Westminster.
The conference room door opened, and Chief Inspector Lance Grannum strode in. He slowed as the heat hit him. ‘Jesus, what’s gone wrong with the aircon,’ he said and proved that he could multitask by walking, talking and removing his jacket all at the same time.
‘It’s knackered,’ someone said, and the clang that echoed in the room sounded like they emphasised the point by kicking the offending unit.
Lance took in the room, catching as many eyes as possible and nodding to a few of the crowd.
‘You’ve all seen the briefing and seen the videos. You know what we’re up against.’
Zoe said, ‘Yep,’ and added to the all ‘Yes’, ‘bastards’, ‘right’, and other mumbled agreements that filled the room.
The atmosphere changed. They were like dogs who had patiently waited, but now strained at their leads.
‘Our job is to stop these cowards attacking Parliament.’
More agreement half covered Lance saying, ‘Put the map up.’
The display wall behind him redrew to show a small section of London, with the Houses of Parliament near the top. The River Thames ran vertically down the right-hand side.
‘OK. We’ve set-up a defensive line around Parliament. We’re lucky that it’s so close to the river on the east side. That gives us a nice natural barrier. Anyone coming from the south has to cross the Thames either here.’ Lance reached up with his left hand and touched a bridge at the top of the map. ‘Westminster Bridge, or here.’
His hand dropped to the bottom of the map. ‘Lambeth Bridge.’
He touched a small pen icon at the bottom of the map.
‘They could cross other bridges further away, but we have the defensive line set along Horseferry Road to the south, up Marsham Street, Great Smith Street and Storey’s Gate on the west, and then along Great George Street to the north.’
As he mentioned the names of the streets, his finger followed the route of each road and drew a red line on the display wall. When he finished, the map had a rough rectangle drawn on it that enclosed both the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey.
Lance tapped another small icon at the bottom of the screen and the map view changed to a satellite view. All the simple grey blocks were replaced with images of real buildings and the green spaces grew trees and bushes. The optimism of the bright blue colour the map used for the river was now a realistic dark green-grey.
‘We don’t know exactly when the attack will come and there are businesses in the area. The Prime Minister wants to show that we are open as usual and won’t be scared by terror threats. We’ve been told that we can’t enforce an exclusion zone.’
That drew cries of complaint and disappointment.
‘I know, I know,’ Lance said, his hands up in mock surrender. ‘We’ve got the drones up and I’ve pulled Uniforms off the eco-protests and put them everywhere on that red line. I need you lot patrolling outside of the red line to try and catch them before they get there. You’ll get a message right after this with your assignments, and exactly where you need to go. Questions?’
Zoe pushed her hand back up through the gap. She knew Lance didn’t really expect questions and that she should keep her mouth shut, but it needed saying. Her hand reached head height and then broke cover, like a soldier
peering out of a trench surrounded by snipers.
Lance saw the movement, frowned and shot an angry, ‘Who’s hand is that?’
The sea of heads shifted, turned and stared, like they were cult members under Lance’s control. Space opened up in front of Zoe and she had a clear line of sight to Lance.
‘Jordan,’ Lance barked, ‘what is it?’
‘Err,’ was all Zoe could manage and her faced flushed red under the intense, silent gaze of the whole room.
‘Get on with it,’ Lance said, pulling on his jacket.
‘Err,’ Zoe said again, but she knew she was committed. Pulling her hand down and saying ‘nothing’ would be complete capitulation. A sign of too much weakness. ‘Are we sure they’re both coming to London, sir? What about the threat to Wales? It could be one terrorist for each parliament of the Union.’
Lance smiled as the room exploded into laughter as if Zoe had told the funniest joke ever.
‘We have assessed that threat and dismissed it. A double-tap on London presents a perfect scenario for these terrorists.’ He said it like it was a proven fact, not his opinion.
Zoe wasn’t so sure. Clive’s map had some merit.
Lance started to move towards the door, but Zoe knew how to stop him.
‘I’m sure you’re right, sir, but if nothing is done to protect the Welsh Parliament and there is an attack, then we’re open to political criticism. A small force sent to Wales would allow us to say that we tried.’
Zoe knew that Lance would hear the ‘we/us’ in her statement as ‘he’. Lance would be exposed if he did nothing.
Lance stopped and rubbed his hand over his face. ‘The politicians would attack us,’ he said. After a few seconds, he said, ‘London’s the target, but a small force would cover the bases.’ He thought for a few more seconds. ‘Sounds like you’re volunteering, Jordan. You can go to Cardiff.’
‘It can’t only be me, sir. A team would be better.’