"Hey Hone, Hone, you did a brilliant job. That was amazing. It really was. You saved us, brother," said Belinda. "But think about this - what do we know? What do we know what's waiting for us out there?"
"Yes Belinda, you're absolutely right!" said Mary, finally recovering from the shock of the Tarzan scene. "Running isn't good for anyone - I know, I've tried it! And, I don't know, maybe we should plan something before we act."
"Aw, you's all just chickens!" said Hone. "I'm outa' here."
"And where has going it alone got you in the past, Hone?" asked John.
Hone stopped and slowly turned, his mouth open, his head shaking a little. "That's a low blow, Hone," he said quietly.
"But a true blow, Hone," said John getting up, walking over and hugging him. "I know where you've been, man, the lone wolf all your life, the whole world against you and running and running and running to no blooming where in the end. Yeah?"
"Yeah mate, howja know this stuff, huh?" asked Hone, slowly relaxing into John's hug.
"Because I've been there too, brother. I've been there too," said John softly as everyone else looked on, stilled and a little tearful. "Then I met this bloody pommy bird and I learned about true connection with another ... how much we can achieve and how deeply we can feel in true connection with others."
Hone's stout muscular body shook in the hug of a slightly taller John as muffled whimpers and howls emanated.
"It's OK bro'," said John. "This is your moment, your defining moment to choose the same or to choose again, Which is it?"
"What a stupid damned question, bro'!" said Hone standing back, wiping his eyes while trying to smile. "Course I want different. I'm sick to death of lone wolf stuff, like you said. It's just ... just ..."
"Just, just shut your big trap and choose differently," said John, his hands in Hone's shoulders. "Choose the pack and choose doing nothing."
"It's just ... aah, I don't know, I feel like a bloody sissy, crying and all, in front of you ..." said Hone, wiping his tears roughly again.
"Mr Hone Ropata," said Ahmed, walking over to the standing men. "I see no sissy. I see a man who stood for his tribe, for a group of strangers in fact, and saved their missions, maybe even saved their lives. I see a true warrior who I want as my friend." Ahmed held out his hand.
"Aah, yah big bloody oaf!" said Hone, trying to smile through another flood of tears. "Waddya wanna say stuff like that for, Koro?" Hone pumped Ahmed's hand and then buried his head in Ahmed's chest as he wrapped his hands around him.
"Koro?" asked Ahmed, looking at John and then slowly down at Hone's head.
"Koro means old man, Ahmed, it's a compliment," said John. "Wise old man, really."
Sam came up and shook Hone's hand, looking awkward, as if he had something to say but didn't quite know how to put it.
"Hey mister, misters, ladies, everyone!" yelled the café owner as he burst through the door, "they out there ... they, they ..."
"OK, OK young man, it's all OK," said Sam to the alarmed man wringing his hands in his apron. "Now take it easy, my good man, slow and easy."
"Ah, umm, you said not let people in here," said the wretched man. "You pay to keep others out."
"You did that, Sam?" asked Mary, surprised and impressed. "You didn't tell us!"
"Mmm, I though a little peace of mind might serve us well for a time," said Sam, blushing. "And now, young man, tell us: who is it who's there? Is it the police? Reporters? Maybe it's aliens?" Sam chuckled at his attempt at levity.
"Maybe they all want climbing lessons from the world expert!" said Hone, laughing.
"No, no, not aliens. Not climbers," said the swarthy young man, now looking confused as well as worried. "They banging on door, demand be let in. No uniforms. Yes, could be newspaper people, ah, notebooks, cameras ..."
"Actually, Sam, it doesn't really matter who they are, it's not what we want, is it?" said John.
"Maybe, maybe not," said Ahmed quietly.
"And maybe we can put them to good use," said Halee jumping up as if a sharp idea had prodded her in the bum. "Is that what you mean, Ahmed?"
"Yes, Halee, exactly!" said Ahmed, looking directly into her eyes with obvious admiration.
"Look Sam, everyone, you all say you don't get what you want, that everything goes wrong and the harder you try, the wronger it gets," said Halee. "Well, sometimes we get what we want - just not in the way we expected it. Maybe this is the publicity you're looking for."
"My God, Halee, my thoughts exactly," said Ahmed, putting his arm around Halee in an unaccustomed show of affection. "Let's use this God-given moment!"
"Look, that's all very well," said Angus, nervously lighting another cigarette, "but what exactly are we going to say?"
"Absolutely, Angus," said Mary, getting up, "we need to organise our story. You know, decide what we're going to say, what we're not going to say and so on. We'll sound like a bunch of mad squirrels, all squawking at once."
"Or, Angus, Mary," said Belinda, her hand on Mary's shoulder. "We decide not to decide, per the Committee for Action ruling today. We listen and let the quiet voice within be spoken."
"The Voice for God," said John.
"Te irirangi o te Atua," said Hone.
"Look, I don't know what you're suggesting here," said Sam looking worried, "but Mary and Angus are right. We need to have a battle plan, organise our defences, agree on tactics and so on."
"It's not a battle unless we choose it be so," said Halee. "You see, we didn't deliberately, with any forethought, create this bizarre situation. It is beyond us to have imagined or created this. I suggest - and you might think I'm quite loopy here, that's OK - but it might well be that we're pawns of a greater force, a force for good, and we could allow that force to work through us, still."
"Let Allah speak through us," said Ahmed, his arm still around Halee's shoulders.
"But ... but we need time to organise ..." said Angus, puffing hard on a cigarette that might have been crying out for kinder treatment.
"That we don't have, I guess," said Mary. "I have no idea how this Allah's going to speak through us, Ahmed, but I can't see another, logical choice. The sods will have the font door smashed down soon if we don't let them in."
Sam's phone trilled and he answered it: "Yes Hoppy, just come down to the café on the note we left. You've got it? Good. Ah, yes, right now is fine. Just that you'll have to lever your way through a bit of a crowd. Your sergeant? Yes, of course he can come and you can join us at the table. See you soon." Sam smiled indulgently, perhaps reflecting on the immaculate timing of it all.
With the assistance of an increasingly nervous café owner, they moved tables away from the centre of the café and set up tables and ten chairs at one end. The reporters were allowed in but not before Scotland Yard's finest was ushered through the crowd and introduced to them all. This had a magically calming effect and a sense of relative order ensued as questions were asked and answered, while numerous photos of the seated team were taken.
Moving On
Thursday, 14th March 2012, 7.30 a.m.
Arthur opened his two eyes as the sun opened its one. He smiled to see his angel beside his bed, his hand in both of hers. Timon slipped out of the room as silently as the sun rose while clamour from a frantic hospital filtered through the double doors. Yes, he thought, the noise has started again - time to gird one's loins, brace oneself and to act strong in a weak and defensive world. Time to wake up and be brave again.
"How are you feeling, love?" asked Joan, hopefully.
Hmm, how am I feeling? Arthur wondered. Or, what's more important, what answer is she expecting?
"I'm feeling ... mmm, good to see you," said Arthur, realising he truly meant it as the words emerged.
"That's good to hear, Arthur," said Joan, now looking more relaxed. "They say the tests show no brain damage. It's just a surface wound."
"You mean there's been someone in my head, looking around while I've been away?" joked Arthur as th
e talking made him aware of a dull thud in his skull. "I wonder if they're still there, do you think?"
"Arthur Bayly, I do believe that sense of humour of yours is growing," said Joan, squeezing his hand. "I wonder what else has changed since you've been gone."
"Get me home and you'll find out!" said Arthur with a grin, feeling strangely brazen.
"Oh Arthur ..." said Joan, unsure what else to say as she leaned forward to kiss him. "They think another day here would be advisable, love, so hold the thought."
"I will," said Arthur, as the faint, dull, thudding moved to the right side of his head. "So, tell me, what's been happening in the world since I left it?"
Over the next few days Arthur was able to glean as much information as he didn't need to know as newspapers and people arrived at the hospital and, later, at their home. From these now-famous friends and family he was happy to receive wishes of speedy recovery and perplexed to receive the occasional offers of employment. He and Joan were plagued by reporters and publishing houses wanting to know their story and, when he was fully recovered, they escaped the furore and spent two weeks on the Camino walk - some of it walking and some of it contemplating. It was a spiritual experience that changed his life ... or was his life already changed and did the peculiar and uplifting experiences simply bear witness to a change already happened? It didn't matter and it was enough for him to know he wasn't stuck in unhappiness and drudgery - he could leave it any time he chose.
The events related to this point were reported extensively (and often inaccurately) by the clamouring press, while individuals were negotiating publishing contracts for their more intimate views of these events. It is apparent that several books are currently being ghost-written and neither Arthur nor I are at liberty to disclose the details of those books. You'll see them soon enough.
However, from the periphery, Arthur was able to discover some fascinating and/or banal facts.
Firstly, there was an eventual swapping round (a technical, legal term) whereby Amanda and Toby were released from police custody while George Sanderson was made to appear before the Police Disciplinary Committee. To appease a salivating public, he was placed on three months suspension and much of that time was spent recovering, at Her Majesty's governmental expenses, on the island of Majorca and then, having been suitably admonished, was promoted to fill the gap left by his retiring boss, a fact probably met with great applause by many in industry.
Superintendent Hopkins, working for an organisation less influenced by government, was able to quietly continue his life-long ambition of protecting innocent victims from corporate crime. His sergeant, a previously astute and upcoming detective, became quite disoriented by the affair he found himself at the fringe of and his strong and simple views on crime were shattered as he began to wonder who really were the bad guys and who were the good ones. In fact, he pondered with concern, were there no good or bad guys at all; just good people all doing their best in an imperfect world? The jury is still out but it's odds on that he will join the Israeli monastery he visited recently, in an effort to simplify (or banish) all such thoughts.
While tied to a chair in his office, Lord Atkinson had not witnessed the events in the corridor nearby. However, when he heard about it, he was incensed that a young man and woman who were trying to help him should be dragged off into custody while that dratted Sanderson, that wolf in sheep's clothing, had got away with it, again. Lord Atkinson had quickly assembled his political friends and, days later, was able to welcome Toby and Amanda back into the free world. Both men formed an immediate and easy companionship - a brothers with arms in slings camaraderie - and he insisted that Amanda and Toby recuperate at his country mansion.
Though Lord Atkinson had sustained financial and political damage in the past, he'd never been physically hurt. This recent series of events shocked him into a deep reverie about what was really important in his life. In conversations with his wife and with the two young people, he realised there was a way to fit all their changing puzzle pieces together. He and Lady Atkinson decided to keep three horses for her to ride and to sell the rest of the race horses. Half of the massive, modern stables were leased to a neighbouring trainer, one stall was kept for saddling Lady Atkinson's horses and the rest was turned into a fitness and defence training academy - a dream that both Amanda and Toby had had since their very different childhoods. They were soon ensconced in one of the cottages recently vacated by the head groom. The Atkinsons took on Toby as the son they never had and he took on the Atkinsons as the parents he never had; being raised in several orphanages, he had learned to fight for everything he needed. The Atkinsons enjoyed Amanda's Antipodean sense of humour and directness and Toby learned, from her, among other things, that defenselessness is strength.
And, yes, you guessed it - Arthur and Joan were invited to their wedding, along with others in this small saga. Toby and the Atkinsons helped Amanda's parents sneak into England and appear before Amanda three days before the wedding, much to Amanda's surprise and delight. She was able to show them some of Surrey and Kent and to enjoy their company ... well, her mother's, anyway. Her father, who had not been abroad before, grumbled about the monotony of England's landscape, the unfriendly natives and the crumbling old houses they insisted on living in. However, Toby charmed him mercilessly and Amanda was not a little tearful when she heard her father tell Toby that he and his new wife must come to New Zealand to see how real people live.
Lord Atkinson, with Sam's help, had formed the Robert Adams Free Energy Trust (RAFET) and, after the Olympics and the ensuing publicity, the enterprise really took off, free from the needs of secrecy.
No one else in this tale of intrigue was able to return to the maps of their old lives and the AIL insurance company will never be the same again. Because of its spectacular profits, it was bought by the Greenwich Bank (GB) and the chairman appointed just happened to be a nephew of one of GB's directors. He appointed Malcolm Schriever, the indecisive stickler for form, as his deputy and, between them, they managed colossal change - staff turnover increased seven-fold and profits plummeted to such an extent that GB was forced (quite happily, really) to ask for a four million pound injection of funds the following year. The government immediately and without evidence saw an immense benefit to the nation of such a transaction and that relationship was further cemented by said nephew's promotion to the House of Commons as the Member for Croydon. Malcolm Schriever took his place as chairman for GB and the world waits with baited breath on next year's published accounts.
After a respectable time, Arthur and Joan received another wedding invitation - that of Sir Samuel and Lady Mary Lord. Ah, yes, they had also attended, along with Martin and Emily, Sam's investiture for his contribution to finance and peace. The bride's hair was long, glossy and thick. Her dress was feminine, her figure slimmer and her smile couldn't be chiselled off. The happy couple did not live happily ever after. No one does. They did, however, experience occasional erotic and spiritual explosions of ecstasy, petty bickering and longer and longer periods of quiet, companionable ordinariness. The requests (demands?) of his devoted wife meant Sir Samuel had to be more discerning and brief at his club and this sacrifice gradually turned itself into a choice and a joy. Lady Mary took on a new diet - instead of reaching for a plate, she reached for her mate - and though their sexual proclivity more than made up for so many years of abstinence, Mary was ever determined that no creature was ever to pass through her loins. Happily, she was able to acquire (as it were) a daughter and granddaughter in Emily and Chloe without the ghastly loin-passing event ever occurring. Mary, of course, got her wish to lie in on Sunday mornings with her Prince Charming, doing all those delicious things she'd always dreamed of. And, once in a while, their mornings were shared, in bed, with a delightful blonde granddaughter.
It surprised her how many of Uncle Hughie's friends were the same ones Sam knew in the Camden music scene and so this lonely Scottish girl soon became one of a varied and fascinating mix of f
riends, from political and industry leaders to creative and artistic fringe-dwellers. It should have been no surprise that she bumped into Halee from time to time. Halee had kept her Camden flat while Ahmed vacillated over how his relationship should look with a bold New Zealand pixie who quickened his spirit. Ahmed fiercely desired her and none of us will know what took place in their private moments but, to the world, he treated her with the deference of a queen to her prince ... an English one, anyway.
Ahmed laid the facts of his shooting a New Zealander at the feet of Superintendent Hopkins who conferred with others at Scotland Yard. Ahmed was allowed out on bail and, after a nervous five months, discovered he had been pardoned. No one knows who influenced and/or made that decision and few facts of the case became known to the general public. It was clear that the New Zealand government, seeking to avoid further scandal - after the disclosure of it's handling of Robert Adams and his invention was made public, worldwide - chose not to press charges on behalf of a Secret Intelligence Service employee. Full of gratitude to Allah and with a realisation that life is, indeed, precious, Ahmed immediately asked Halee to marry him. Reports are that she accepted immediately though we must keep quiet about that until he has obtained his family's consent.
Halee enjoyed her new lifestyle in London, Pakistan and New Zealand and her new position as secretary for the Legal Director of RAFET. RAFET, as you can imagine, dispenses money and free-energy technology to poorer communities, financed by sales of said technology to wealthier communities. Halee often accompanied her boss to negotiate contracts around the world and Ahmed never tired of his secretary's presence. It also pleased him deeply to be able to help the people of his homeland, with resources, and he and Halee shared many a tearful moment for the good they were able to effect.
Our red haired Scot, Angus Collins, was pleased (ecstatic, actually) to be able to put his engineering skills to work as Deputy Engineering Supervisor for RAFET's four factories in England and this necessitates the occasional overseas trip to supervise installations. He returns regularly to his beloved Dunfermline, despite the fascinations of his now-bigger world. With his increased income, he offered to buy his Ma and Da a larger, more modern house but they gave an emphatic thumbs down, preferring to live in a council house they can complain about. So Angus bought himself a larger, more modern house which his parents dutifully 'look after' most of the time when he's in his smaller semidetached in Witney, Oxfordshire. His father has been known to smile a little more (when he thinks others aren't looking) but his mother retains the need to conceal the happiness she feels for her two children.
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