by Menon, David
Ross Bainbridge had been born into money. His grandfather had started the family aeronautical supplies business when he was demobbed after the Second World War and by the time Ross’ father took it over it was already a multi-million dollar concern. But there’s always a stain on an otherwise flawless piece of fabric somewhere and Robert found it. Cheryl-Ann, one of ten children, came from a line of white trash that had been on the wrong side of the tracks and stayed there. She’d been lucky that Ross Bainbridge had met her in a bar one night during a shooting trip and fallen in love with her. It wasn’t long before he whisked her away from all that but you can’t always escape your past entirely. Cheryl-Ann’s father and two of her elder brothers had been accused in 1963 of lynching a local black man because he’d been having an affair with a white woman who was married to one of their friends. It was well known in local circles that they’d done it, half the town had been there when they had done it but no witnesses came forward and the local police didn’t exactly make it their business to find any. Nationwide pressure had eventually forced the arrest of the three men but with no evidence and no witnesses no charges could be made against them. But the black man’s father had other ideas about justice that didn’t rely on trusting a system that had let his family down. He followed Cheryl-Ann’s father and her two brothers home one night and shot them all dead on the front porch of the family home. An off duty police officer who lived across the street then shot him.
Robert sat back in his chair and breathed out slowly. The story of the poor girl marrying the rich man was a bit last century but there were added little trinkets of happenings here that would make it interesting enough for his readers back in the UK. He’d put in several requests for an interview with Senator Bainbridge but she’d always been too busy.
There was a knock on his door and after looking through the peep hole he let his visitor in. He’d been expecting them. They’d promised information that may be able to fill in quite a few gaps in the Bainbridge story.
The next day at Cheryl-Ann’s office at the senate, Washington DC.
Nicholas Trent knew he was yesterday’s news. The disgraced former British foreign secretary had only been back on the backbenches for a month but already the journalists had stopped calling. Trent, a multi-millionaire in his own right and heir to his family’s nationwide tyre fixing business, had resigned his cabinet post before he’d been pushed into it by number ten. Allegations had become headline news that he’d taken his friend and business associate Howard Phelps with him on official trips, at the taxpayers’ expense, to secure contracts for the defence consultancy firm that he and Phelps ran with their Israeli partner. Trent had held on until the bitter end and even now didn’t believe that he’d done anything wrong. He and Phelps had been working for the common good, for the alliance of conservatives in Britain and America with their friends in Israel. The coming of the Arab spring, whatever Trent had said in public about his rejoice that the people were rising up and demanding their freedom, had not been welcomed by Trent. Some of the former regimes had been used extensively by the western allies for the rendition of suspects in the war against Islamist extremism. The more democratic a country became, the less obliging it tended to be with such activities.
Trent led an association of right-wing Conservatives called the ‘North Atlantic Bridge’ group and they’d been involved with Cheryl-Ann’s conservative group in the US for some time. But if the Conservative party knew what he was doing now at this secret meeting they would have thrown him out of the party altogether. Not because merely associating with Senator Bainbridge and her close lieutenants went against party rules, but because of what he was being plotted against the integrity of the British state.
‘Now Nicholas’ said Cheryl-Ann in her Texan drawl, ‘you mentioned to me earlier that we have ourselves a situation developing? Is that right?’
‘Not exactly a situation’ said Trent. ‘But the fact is our friend is getting cold feet’.
‘But will it develop into something we’ll have to work smartly to sort out?’
‘I’m hoping not’ said Trent. ‘We’re reminding him of who his friends turned out to be’.
Cheryl-Ann considered for a moment. ‘If he won’t go through with delivering the goods then he’ll need to be eliminated. Do I make myself clear, Nicholas?’
‘Absolutely and we won’t waste a moment in dealing with him in that way if we have to’.
‘Good’ said Cheryl-Ann. ‘Because God has chosen me to bring about the second coming of His son Jesus. I won’t let anybody stand in the way of me doing His will’.
Twenty-four hours later at Nicholas Trent’s flat in west London.
‘Do you really think we can pull this off, Howard?’ said Trent as he and Howard Phelps shared a brandy in Trent’s room back at their hotel a couple of hours later.
‘The pieces are all in place’ said Howard.
‘And you did take good care of the file?’
‘Yes’ lied Phelps. ‘But I didn’t think you wanted to know where it was?’
Trent took another sip of his brandy. ‘No, you’re right, I don’t’ he said. ‘I just wanted to make sure, that’s all. If that file fell into the wrong hands it would be the end for all of us’.
‘I know that, Nick’ said Phelps. ‘Now you trusted me with it and I won’t let you down’.
Trent smiled. ‘No. I know you won’t’
TWO
Professor Jacob Abrahams was professor of international studies at Salford University and a widely respected academic in demand for comment by TV news channels and for consultations by corporations and governments alike. He wasn’t known for watering down his arguments to suit the sensitivities of his audience and his latest book on the definition of terrorism was climbing up non-fiction charts all over the world. It had taken him six months of blood, sweat and tears, often working into the small hours and waking up again only hours later as the sun came up to do some more before setting off to do the day job. But he felt it was important to get his message across even if some didn’t like it. Indeed, it was especially because some didn’t like it that he had to speak up and given his stance on the most intractable issue of the day, namely the Israel/Palestine conflict, as a Jew he’d induced the most hatred from his own side.
His publisher didn’t have to cajole him into doing a publicity tour for the book which was titled ‘Who are the Terrorists?’ Jacob liked to go out and engage with his readers and as he walked up to the branch of Waterstones on Deansgate in Manchester city centre he saw his face and the title of his book were writ large on two posters spread across the main front window. The manager of the store greeted him warmly and Jacob’s publisher was there too. Jacob would read the first chapter of his book and then a question and answer session would follow before he sat down to do some signings. The store and Professor Abrahams’ publishers had advertised the event well and a capacity crowd had gathered in the room on the top floor. They were a mixed bunch made up of teachers and other educational types, students, members of political parties, lonely nerds who needed something to obsess about, and the usual kind of white, middle-class intellectuals who formed what were commonly known as the chattering classes. Then there some of Jacob’s friends from the ‘Jewish People for Palestine’ group as well as those Jewish groups who supported Israel no matter what it did. The latter were all sitting near to members of the Palestinian community in Manchester to whom the professor was a hero and with whom he was close. It often led to fire in the debate but he loved that. Bland talk amongst people intent on being polite were a waste of time to him. He liked to ignite people’s passion about the subject. He wasn’t scared of people showing their emotions and today’s debate proved to be no exception. With Israel’s bombing campaign in Gaza which they claim is in response to rocket attacks on Israel, there was plenty to disagree about between the opposing sides and calm had to be restored on two occasions.
It was just after the debate had finished when two men walk
ed forward towards the front and one of them fired a shot at Professor Abrahams at close range. In the panic that followed with everybody screaming and diving for cover the assailants were able to get away without anyone apprehending them.
*
Hettie Goldstein had been married to Yitzhak for nearly sixty years. In that time they’d given five children to the world, two of whom now lived in Israel, and they had a total of eleven grandchildren with two more on the way. Hettie could barely keep up but just the thought of all that new life coming from God through her family was enough to fill her heart with joy on even the darkest day.
She well remembered that cold, wet day back in 1946 when she and her mother had arrived in Liverpool with only one suitcase and its contents to their name. Hettie’s two brothers and their father had all perished in the Auschwitz concentration camp and Hettie and her mother had held onto each other for dear life. They’d been a happy family growing up in Frankfurt until Hitler turned the rest of German society against them and their fellow Jews. They should’ve fled when they had the chance but Hettie’s father had been convinced that the Nazi’s would never be able to carry out what had become their obvious intent. That false hope had been wiped out the day they came to take them to the camp. The evil of the next few years was intensified when her father and siblings were murdered. Even when liberation came, Hettie and her mother didn’t feel like they were free. How could they after what had happened to the rest of the family?
‘I don’t know what we are going to do’ said Hettie as she cleared away the lunch dishes from the dining room table. ‘It took hours to get that paint off the door, Yitzhak’.
‘I’m well aware of that, Hettie’.
‘Then when are you going to do something?’
‘I’ve done all I can, Hettie’.
‘No, you haven’t or else it wouldn’t still be happening’.
‘Hettie, I’ve been to the police and ...’
‘ ... oh they don’t care about us! Don’t you know that by now? Are you an idiot or something?’
‘Don’t call me an idiot, Hettie’.
‘Well you’re indifferent then’ she countered. Then she laughed sardonically. ‘As if the police are going to help us? I mean, really’.
‘Hettie, if only it was as simple as you like to make it sound’.
‘It is simple, of course it’s simple’ said Hettie. ‘At least it would be simple if we weren’t Jewish. Then the police would be falling over themselves to help us’.
‘I’ve already made that point to them’.
‘Then you need to make it again with more force’ said Hettie as she picked up his plate. It was quiet in the house now all the family had flown the nest. Hettie liked having people to cater for. When their daughter had worked in the kosher cake shop around the corner she’d always nipped back to her parents’ place for lunch but now she worked with the Rabbi at the synagogue it was too far and she didn’t have time. Hettie thought that was a pity. She missed her like she missed all her children.
‘I don’t know what else you want me to do’ said Yitzhak with a sigh of exasperation.
‘Your father would’ve known what to do’.
‘Don’t bring my father into it, Hettie!’
‘Why not? He’d have known what to do when the community is under attack. Yitzhak, I love you dearly, you know that. But sometimes I wish you had some of your father’s steel’.
‘And look where that got him!’
‘Yes, an honourable death’.
‘In a hangman’s noose’.
‘It was an honourable death, Yitzhak’.
‘Is that what you want for me?’
‘No! Don’t be silly, sweetheart’.
‘Then get it into perspective, Hettie. Some front doors have been daubed in paint ...’
‘... with messages of hatred against Jews!’
‘And that poor professor almost lost his life in that assassination attempt in the bookstore last week and even though I would never have shed any tears for that self-loathing Jew who apologises for terrorists, the attempt on his life does prove my point’.
‘He doesn’t apologise for terrorists, Hettie! He just tries to understand the problem so that a fair and just solution can be found and sometimes, yes sometimes, he tells us Jews some home truths when it comes to Israel and the Palestinians’.
‘He advocates the murder of Jews, his own kind. How much more treasonous can you get?’
‘No, he doesn’t advocate the murder of Jews, Hettie! That is nonsense and if you actually listened to what he said you wouldn’t be able to make such a grotesque accusation’.
‘Yitzhak, I’m not going to argue with you anymore. Our people are under attack. Now, are you going to just sit around and wait until it gets more serious? Are you going to wait until one of us dies before you do something?’
*
DS Joe Alexander had been looking forward to going home to be with Carol and the kids. But then he got the text message to say that Carol would be going out with her friends, again, and that the girls were at their grandmothers. She told him not to wait up. But it shouldn’t be like this. He didn’t mind Carol going out with her friends. Of course he didn’t. He wasn’t a fucking cave man. But she was going out more with her friends than she was staying in with him for the evening and she seemed more enthusiastic about going out with her friends than staying in with him for the evening.
Had he been used as some sort of bridge between her abusive husband and another future with another man? It was beginning to feel that way. He should be feeling on top of the world now that Carol had moved in but instead he didn’t know if it had been a good thing or not. He’d been delighted to welcome her into his home when her husband threw her out after he found out about their affair. Her two teenage daughters came with her of course and three women in the house meant that Joe never got more than a couple of minutes in the bathroom each morning. But he could put up with stuff like that. What was harder to work out was the way Carol had changed towards him since they’d been living together. He thought that she’d want them to spend as much time together as they could and for the four of them to build a home life together as a family. But instead Carol seemed to want to re-discover her freedom. She’d started going out with her friends three or four nights a week, leaving Joe to look after the girls. She also seemed less keen on the physical side of their relationship than she’d been when they were having their affair. He’d tried to make light of it but she hadn’t taken the hint so he was wondering how long he could leave it before talking to her about it more seriously. He didn’t want to ruin everything. He’d waited all his life for a woman like Carol but it was turning out to be a very long way from what he thought it should be.
‘Are you still with us, Joe?’ asked DCI Sara Hoyland.
‘Sorry, Ma’am’ said Joe who didn’t like being disrespectful to the boss. ‘Sorry’.
‘How had he got it so wrong at such close range?’ Sara asked as she and her squad sat around the large table in the squad room. The man who’d tried to assassinate Professor Jacob Abrahams had missed his target despite being so close. The professor had been unharmed in the attempt on his life but one of the students who’d been standing with him caught the bullet.
‘He was a lousy shot?’ Joe offered.
‘Well yes, obviously, but I suspect that given the public profile of Professor Abrahams they’d done a lot of planning. They intended to kill him and we’ll need to start by asking him to give us a list of potential enemies’.
‘That could go to a long list’ said DI Tim Norris, Sara’s deputy.
‘The professor has got some pretty outspoken views’ added Joe as he looked through some of the professor’s previous speeches. ‘It’s made him a lot of enemies particularly from within his own community’.
‘How is that?’ asked Sara.
‘Because Professor Abrahams is critical of Israeli policy towards the Palestinians and some of his fellow Jews can’t acce
pt a Jew criticising Israel’ said DS Adrian Bradshaw who then broke off to take a call on the office phone.
‘So we’ll need to proceed with our usual sensitivity’ said Sara.
‘Maybe things will become clearer after we’ve interviewed the professor?’ offered Joe.
‘Well for the sake of the family of the young student who was killed we need answers’ said Sara. ‘He’s dead because he was standing in the way of a mad bastard with an axe to grind against someone they disagree with. We need to get justice first and foremost for him and his family’.
‘There’s been a further development regarding Professor Abrahams’ said Adrian after he’d finished the call. ‘When he got to his office at Salford University this morning it had been broken into. Two security guards at the university have been found shot dead’.
*
‘Sadly, this wasn’t unexpected’ said Jacob after Sara and Joe had arrived at the University and introduced themselves. The forensics team were combing for clues everywhere and statements had been taken from Jacob and his secretary by the local uniformed response unit. ‘They failed at trying to kill me but now they’ve killed three other people who got in their way. I feel dreadful for their families. Now they’ve been in here and they were obviously after something’.
‘How do you know it was the same people?’ Sara asked.
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ Jacob answered. ‘It can’t be a coincidence’.
‘What do you think they were looking for?’
Jacob sighed. ‘It could any number of things. But as you can see they’ve smashed my computer. Luckily I’ve got all my work on it backed up and stored in a cloud’.
The professor hadn’t turned out to be what Sara had been expecting. Not only did he show he possessed a great sensitivity but his physical appearance was also feeding her attraction for him. He had thick, wavy dark brown hair with matching eyes that looked at her with great purpose as if meeting him had somehow been pre-ordained. He had a short beard cut close to his skin and his black corduroy jacket finished off the forty-something academic look. She felt like lightening had struck. She told herself to focus on the work but she couldn’t ignore the lurch in her senses that told her that this was the man she’d been looking for all her life.