“Shooting that helicopter down must have helped them there,” commented Whitey.
“Yes,” said King thoughtfully. “Yes, it must.”
As far as Whitey could ascertain, Hydrangea was safe. He hoped she was staying behind the sophisticated defenses of the American Embassy and not still going on with her spy-role as Chaucer’s assistant.
During the afternoon of the day after the Wembley disaster, things became very quiet and King grew more and more restless. He tried to contact Sheldrake by radio-telephone several times and finally established that he had been touring the border areas but was returning to London that evening.
“Let’s go,” said King.
“Who? Me?” asked Whitey.
“Please yourself. You want to stay here, you stay here.”
“No, no. I’ll come. Where are we going?”
“To see Sheldrake.”
“At Athletic House?”
King looked at him with a wry grin.
“Not yet awhile,” he said. “Things don’t just change over night. Look at the job they had to do on you. Me, I’m still high on the relegation list at A.H.”
“Where then?”
“The Embassy,” said King. “Nice neutral spot. It’s quite reasonable that Sheldrake should go there for talks and it’s well out of the way of any curious eyes.”
The thought of going to the Embassy and possibly seeing Hydrangea gave Whitey the first pleasurable feelings he had experienced for twenty four hours. He focussed on the prospect as they left the stadium, keeping his mind and his eyes averted from the sprawl of human bodies which littered the roads. There were so many in the environs of Wembley that it was impossible to travel by car and for the first couple of miles they moved cautiously on foot.
There were many signs of looting both from shops and houses, and at one corner they came across three men searching bodies for valuables. Two of them fled at their approach but the third merely looked up from his grisly work, brandished a handful of money and said with a grin, “Plenty for all.”
King shot him. Whitey looked at him, amazed.
“Why did you do that?” he demanded.
“He degrades us all,” answered the young man, his features set in revulsion.
They proceeded in silence and a few streets further on, picked up an abandoned car, its body-work battered and windscreen smashed, but still in working order.
A new horror became apparent as they approached central London. There was less evidence of street fighting here and though the shops offered much richer pickings, their more sophisticated security systems had for the most part protected them from looters. But in the last quarter mile of the Edgware Road Whitey saw at least two dozen victims of formal yussing, mostly hanging from lamp-posts or windows, and a line of condemned men had been bound to the railings round Hyde Park and shot.
“Who’s been doing this?” he demanded.
“Our lads most likely,” replied King. “They’ll all be Association men.”
“But why do it like this?”
“It’s the agreed plan where there’s time. Gives the business an air of formality. People will find it more reassuring in the long run than mere assassination. It’s purposeful, makes you wonder what the fellow hanging there did to deserve execution.”
Whitey regarded his young companion with revulsion. He looked quite serious. Suddenly his New York apartment, his liberal, concerned American friends, his stable, well-rewarded and meaningful life as a respected writer, seemed to be drifting beyond recall.
“No,” he said emphatically.
“No what?” enquired King.
“Nothing.”
No, I will not let it go. No, I will not accept what I am seeing here. Another five minutes brings me to the Embassy. Hydrangea. Safety. It may mean staying there for a few days, weeks even, till things calm down. Then out. Back to the States, back to my writing, with what a tale to tell. Exsmith must bear some of the blame. What a fool to think you can arm terrorists and exercise any control over them! His career might finish here, but he seemed a man of probity. He too would wish to do his best to put matters right. Whatever that entailed.
One thing was certain. Matters as they were at present were far from right.
At the Embassy gates they were taken out of the car and made to stand facing a blank wall till a check was made inside the building. It took long enough for Whitey to begin to worry, then they were ushered inside.
The first person he saw was Hydrangea.
“Thank God,” she said with a depth of sincerity which caught at his heart. He found himself unable to answer and held her close without speech.
“Whitey. King. Glad you’re OK,” said Exsmith coming forward now with a broad smile on his face. Whitey disengaged himself from Hydrangea.
“Ambassador,” he said, “do you know what’s going on out there?”
“Well, my men radio in hourly reports,” answered Exsmith. “Everything seems to be moving along smoothly. Wouldn’t you say so, King?”
“Whitey is a little concerned that my men may have overstepped their brief,” said King.
“Just how much of all this did you know in advance?” demanded Whitey. “Did you know that thousands of people were going to be killed? Did you know that men were going to be executed on the streets?”
“I’m merely giving what assistance I can to a worthwhile cause,” answered Exsmith. “You wanted to stop the Association too, Whitey. We must allow Mr King to be judge of the best methods.”
“You blind reffing fool!” shouted Whitey. “Can’t you see the Jays are just using you?”
There was an interruption before Exsmith could reply. Hort, Hydrangea’s hi-jack companion, came in and murmured, something to the Ambassador.
“Bring them in,” Exsmith answered. “Gentlemen, I have a surprise.”
Through the door stepped Chaucer and Wildthorpe with a small band of Embassy guards in close attendance. The men were both very much the worse for wear. Wildthorpe in particular looked very grey. A streak of blood ran down his face from a cut across the brow and his clothes were torn and dishevelled.
“They were recognized in the street,” explained Hort. “They just made it here about twenty yards ahead of a mob.”
“Seeking sanctuary!” exclaimed Exsmith. “Touching. Well, gents, I think you know all these here assembled.”
The two men did not reply but Whitey saw on their faces puzzlement modulate to concern as they tried to work out the significance of the grouping they saw before them. Chaucer solved it first and, typically, did not beat about the bush.
“I should have known,” he said to Hydrangea. “From the start I should have known.”
“She’s an American citizen,” urged Wildthorpe, still clinging to some faint hope that all was not as it seemed. “Why shouldn’t she be here?”
“Forget it,” said Chaucer wearily. “You as well, Singleton. It adds up. And as for trusting smelly little wankers like you, King, we must have been mad.”
He jumped forward wildly swinging his fists at King who easily evaded the blows. A guard struck him lightly on the base of his neck and he half collapsed.
“You’re too violent,” said Exsmith. “Guards, take him out. Give him back to the crowd.”
“Both of them, sir?”
“Just this one. The other we’ll keep a little longer.”
Chaucer was dragged past the now ashen-faced Wildthorpe to the door. Here he recovered sufficiently to speak.
“For God’s sake!” he cried, looking wildly round the room. His gaze fell on Whitey. “Whitey! Twice I helped you. I could have had you killed. You too, girl. Don’t let them do this!”
Hydrangea stepped forward before Whitey could answer. Her voice was low, controlled.
“I still remember what you did in that prison cell. I’ve had to pretend it was forgotten, but it wasn’t. Never. Does that answer you?”
“But you love me. You told me you loved me,” said Chaucer desperately. “That�
��s why I had him yussed as a glib. For you. Whitey …”
The guards tugged harder and Chaucer was dragged through the door. His voice cut off suddenly. Whitey tried desperately to find words but they would not come.
“They’ll tear him to pieces,” said Wildthorpe. He staggered a little and looked ready to collapse.
“Have a seat, sir,” said Exsmith, concerned.
“We needn’t bother to chuck this one out,” said King contemptuously. “Just shout ‘boo!’ and he’ll drop dead.”
Wildthorpe turned his bowed head slightly to look at Whitey, but did not speak. Exsmith was fussing round him, offering a large glass of brandy. Whitey turned away, finding this solicitude grotesque and distasteful, and concentrated his attention on Hydrangea.
“You were his mistress,” he said evenly.
“I should have thought it was obvious. He wasn’t just going to trust me for no reason.” She spoke defiantly, but looked at him with concern in her eyes.
“Yes, obvious,” he murmured. “Forget it. Does Exsmith know what he’s got himself into here?”
“I think so,” she said. “God, Whitey, I was worried about you. I wanted to go to Wembley with Chaucer, just to be near you, but they wouldn’t let me.”
“I’m touched. So you knew what was going to happen?”
“Not precisely, no,” she answered, evading his gaze. “Look, Whitey, it’s for the best.”
“I’ve been a fool,” he said bitterly. “I should have known the Jays would have tried for a take-over. But I thought the Embassy would have kept some kind of control.”
He turned from Hydrangea and, uninvited, helped himself to a drink. Wildthorpe was looking slightly more healthy now and King was walking impatiently round the polished table in the centre of the large reception room.
“Where the hell’s Sheldrake?” he demanded.
On cue, the door opened and Sheldrake entered. He stopped short at the sight of Wildthorpe.
“What’s he doing here?” he demanded, but did not wait for an answer. “There’s a crowd outside. They’ve got hold of Chaucer somehow. The poor reffer; what they’re doing to him, it turned my guts.”
“Oh dear,” said Exsmith. “He was here, but he left.”
“What’s the news?” demanded King.
“It’s going well. With a lot of help from our boys, things have been really humming. I reckon it’s time to come out in the open.”
“Fine,” said King. “We’ll coordinate from Wembley, get a nation-wide tele-cast. You in the middle of the pitch, perhaps. What a setting!”
“But don’t fool yourself,” said Sheldrake warningly. “There’s a lot of fight left in those Strikers. Things will really explode once the broadcast goes out. They’re not all going to lay down their arms just on my say so.”
“That’s OK. We’re ready,” said King confidently.
“Not quite,” said Sheldrake. “Exsmith?”
He looked around for the Ambassador who had self-effacingly retired to a corner by the large marble fireplace. Can’t he see that he’s being treated like the hired help? wondered Whitey.
“Yes?” said Exsmith.
“There’s been a cock-up with some of our units,” said Sheldrake. “A lot of that ammo we had from you turned out to be for the old PF 70’s, not the new 72’s we’ve got. Has the new delivery you promised arrived yet?”
“Oh yes,” said Exsmith, like a shopkeeper reassuring an impatient customer. “It’s all here, ready for distribution.”
“Fine,” said Sheldrake. “I’ve brought my quarter-master with me. I’ll leave him to make arrangements. Now, there are one or two other matters King and I had better talk over while we’re here. Would you mind leaving us alone?”
This ultimate arrogance surely must make Exsmith explode, thought Whitey, but the Ambassador looked unmoved.
“Of course,” he said. “Certainly. Anything you wish. Gentlemen. Lady.”
He began ushering Whitey, Wildthorpe and Hydrangea to the door.
“Just one thing,” said King. “What’s going to happen to him?”
He nodded at Wildthorpe.
“You afraid of me or something, son?” asked the old Director.
“No. Not any longer. You’re finished now,” said King calmly.
“Back in ’79 we were three goals down at half-time at Wembley,” said Wildthorpe. “They said we were finished then. But we took the Cup back up the Ml the next day.”
“I remember that,” said Whitey. “It was one of the saddest days of my life.”
“You’re getting your halves mixed up, old man,” said King. “Half-time’s long past. The next whistle is the last. You should have died at Wembley.”
“Aye,” said Wildthorpe. “Plenty did.”
“Which reminds me,” interjected Sheldrake. “What the hell happened to that chopper? That was a bad business killing all those Euros like that. We can’t afford any continental interference at the moment.”
“A mistake,” said King. “No-one’s admitting anything. We’ll try to blame the Association.”
“It’s all right,” said Exsmith assuringly, “there’s no danger from the Continent. My government has assured all interested countries that we are keeping a watchdog eye on the situation here and will help press any claims for reparation when things return to normal.”
“You’ve done what?” demanded Sheldrake furiously. “For Christ’s sake, I thought you wanted to keep in the background? What the hell do you mean by going around giving assurances for someone else’s country?”
“Please, please! Don’t be offended. Of course any open interference in this country’s internal affairs would be quite unwarranted. Unless, of course, it were formally requested by the country’s accredited representative.”
“Wait a minute,” said Sheldrake suddenly thoughtful. “That helicopter. You had it shot down, didn’t you, Exsmith?”
“That’s a thoroughly irresponsible accusation,” rebuked Exsmith. But there was a smile on his face. “Why should I arrange such a thing?”
“I don’t know. But I warn you, if your precious government wants to keep its links with England, you stick to what we arranged. All you’ve got to do at the moment is to see to it our units are kept supplied …”
His voice tailed away.
“The ammunition,” said King.
Suddenly they were all very busy with their thoughts.
“How are you feeling now, Mr. Wildthorpe?” asked Exsmith.
“Much better, thanks,” answered Wildthorpe who did indeed look very much improved. He shook off Exsmith’s helping hand, stepped back a pace and spoke formally. “Mr. Ambassador, on behalf of the sovereign state of England in association with the northern and western territories known as Scotland and Wales, I would like to request and invite the assistance of the United States of America to stem our present civil unrest.”
You’ve got to admire the old reffer’s nerve, thought Whitey, hoping that the old man would at least receive a courteous answer.
Exsmith smiled blandly and glanced at his watch.
“I thought you’d never ask,” he said. “Though, in strictest terms, you are about five minutes early. Gentlemen, the extra arms you requested are indeed being supplied. But with them we are supplying men to bear them. The first troop-planes should just be landing.”
Hope chased bewilderment from Wildthorpe’s face as the others tried to grasp what was happening.
“You bastard,” said Sheldrake.
“I can’t ignore a request for help,” said Exsmith calmly.
“And if he hadn’t asked?”
“Someone always asks,” answered Exsmith. “Gentlemen, you are under arrest.”
For the first time Whitey noticed Hort and Hydrangea had guns in their hands. Sheldrake and King looked at each other desperately.
“Don’t,” said Hort reasonably.
But Whitey could have told him that men who see what they have worked and schemed for suddenly bei
ng pulled away from under their noses move out of the realm of reason.
They broke, left and right. Sheldrake took Hort’s bullet full in the chest but retained enough momentum to crash into his slayer and bear him to the ground.
King went lower, took Hydrangea’s legs from under her while she fired harmlessly into the wall, rolled to his feet in the same movement and reached the door.
But Hydrangea recovered quickly too and, rolling over on her stomach, she brought up her gun to bear on King as he wrenched at the door-handle. It was impossible to miss.
“No!” shouted Whitey and stepped in between.
He too had moved beyond reason. What he was denying so emphatically he could not have explained. But it didn’t seem to matter whether he was yelling ‘No!’ to King dying, or ‘No!’ to Hydrangea becoming a killer. Perhaps he was shouting ‘No!’ to all killing and all dying and all causes and creeds; and shouting it the louder because he knew somehow he would never shout it again.
Hydrangea fired. But she had hesitated and changed her aim and the bullet crashed high into the woodwork of the door, slamming it shut behind the fleeing youth.
“No sweat,” said Exsmith calmly. “They’ll get him downstairs.”
“I don’t think so,” said Whitey, helping Hydrangea to her feet. “He takes a lot of getting. Thanks for not shooting me, by the way.”
“Perhaps I should have,” said Hydrangea.
Whitey was right. King disappeared without trace, but it was too late for him to use the information he had acquired. Within twenty-four hours, American troops had taken control of all the large towns. Within forty-eight hours the Jays were being attacked in their most secret hide-outs. American Intelligence had been very efficient in the last few weeks. And within seventy-two hours almost the only gunfire to be heard was the short economical bursts with which Jay prisoners were executed.
All this time Whitey stayed within the Embassy, neither a prisoner nor a free man. He stayed because he did not know where to go or what to do if he left.
Hydrangea came to him the first night, but after that no more. They had talked; or rather he had asked questions, demanded answers, ignoring her attempts to urge him to love-making.
“This was all planned?”
Singleton's Law Page 19