BOB HARDING ARRIVED AT Government House a few minutes after Tony Selby had left lugging the sports bag containing the Sterling and its magazines. The scientist's eyes were red, his nose running, throat sore. Despite all his precautions when filling the bomblets, some of the flour and talcum powder had got loose and set off his asthma which was showing no signs of clearing up.
He was shown into Vanessa's office. He congratulated her on her promotion, and she in turn sympathized with his condition. Harding brushed aside her apologies for calling him -- he was always glad of a chance for a spot of flirtation with the girls on the 4th floor.
`The reason Mr Prescott has asked me to see you, Mr Harding, is his concern over this morning's terrorist attack, allegedly by the Country Brigade.'
`We both know that they wouldn't do that, Miss Grossman.'
`Someone planned and carried it out. It smacks of organization. The chairman feels that a major expansion of the police force is necessary to forestall further acts and to set the populace's mind at rest.'
Bob Harding had no quarrel with that. Helping out with the rescue of Ellen and Vikki from a horrible death was one thing, acts of terrorism such as the attack on the bakery was another.
`He asked me to ask you about the possibility of setting-up a chemical plant with the object of producing cordite and percussion caps for nine millimetre ammunition. How soon could you get such a plant in production?'
Not, Harding noted wryly, whether or not it was possible to make the stuff, but when. But it wasn't such a crazy idea. He had been toying with the idea of proposing a small plant at Selby Engineering to produce nitrate-based fertilizers and materials for his submersible pet scheme. Air passed through an electric arc would produce a nitrate compound but he would have to mug-up. But if the costs of setting up a plant could be foisted onto another budget, it made it all more likely that his submersible to investigate Pentworth Lake would get the green light. Like all scientists, Bob Harding had no conscience when it came to getting his hands on funding.
`Well, Miss Grossman... It can be done on a limited scale. Luckily nine mill ammunition doesn't need large quantities of cordite.'
`How about raw materials?'
`The basic ingredient of explosives are nitrates which we can extract from thin air. Our atmosphere is eighty per cent nitrogen. When do you want a production facility set up?'
`Yesterday,' said Vanessa promptly, and joined in with Bob Harding's laughter.
He rather liked her, but he liked all women and somewhat rashly agreed that he could get limited production underway within five days.
`One thing you, of all people, should be aware of, Mr Harding,' said Vanessa as her visitor was about to leave. `I expect you've been bound by the official secrets acts all your professional life?'
Harding agreed that this was the case.
`Nothing has changed, Mr Harding. These projects are to be kept absolutely secret.' In afternoon Vanessa kept the messenger service busy. By the time she finished work for the day, she had arranged for the "peace conference" with the Country Brigade to be held in seven days. Also the police recruiting officer had reported that over 200 suitable volunteers had come forward to join the police reserve and that more were expected tomorrow.
A regular army in the making, she thought with considerable satisfaction.
Chapter 73.
TONY SELBY DIDN'T WASTE ANY time. Back at his factory he went into a huddle in his office with his chief draughtsman/designer and foreman toolmaker. They dismantled the Sterling sub-machinegun and set to work with micrometers, thread gauges, and vernier calipers to produce a set of sketched engineering drawings of each of the weapon's relatively few component parts. They used their experience and a Brinell hardness gauge to determine the heat treatment that each part required.
An apprentice was given the task of hack-sawing the firm's precious reserves of mild steel bar stock into blanks for the barrels, and he even had enough time left at the end of the day to make a start on rough-boring the blanks through -- undersize for eventual reaming and honing to their finished bore size.
Many of the common piece parts such as screws were carried in stock. With a computer-controlled automatic capstan set up and spitting firing pins into its hopper by 4:00pm. and a start made with the shapers to produce male and female moulds for the plastic fittings, Tony Selby was confident that his firm could deliver the first batch of tested Sterlings within four days.
Chapter 74.
EVERY DETAIL OF THE PEACE conference, from the chauffeur-driven government car sent to collect the three Country Brigade delegates, to the long red carpet outside Government House was the result of Vanessa's careful planning. Market Square was filled with a formidable turn-out of 150 well-drilled reservists looking smart in new uniforms -- sleeveless white shirts dyed black and black trousers. They were spaced out to make their numbers appear greater than they were, and the two ranks of the 50 man guard of honour flanking the red carpet were ready to present arms using gleaming Sterling sub-machine guns.
It was a formidable display of power that Nelson Faraday took pride in as he stepped forward and opened the rear door of the chauffeur-driven car. He saluted the three arrivals.
`The three delegates have got friends in the town,' Vanessa had told him that morning. `Watch them like hawks, Nelson. I don't want them talking to anyone other than us.'
Faraday didn't see how they would have a chance but he agreed to her order.
Dan Baldock's expression was blank as he shook hands with Prescott on the steps of Government House. Malone was as inscrutable as always, but David Weir appeared to be visibly shaken by the unexpected nature of the reception. Sound gear had been rigged. Loudspeakers. Prescott's pious platitudes prattled around the square; need for co-operation between town and country; living together in harmony; common good; blah... blah...
As they were shown through Prescott's outer office, Malone was engrossed in conversation with Baldock and knocked one of the secretary's filing tray stacks to the floor. Papers went everywhere. The mishap embarrassed Malone; he was profuse in his apologies as he and everyone else stooped to gather up the scattered documents.
In Prescott's office there was real coffee served at a conference table that had been set up in the middle of the office. The air-conditioning was working hard, the room pleasantly cool. The coffee was the last of Vanessa's hoard; she had decided that using it for this meeting was a sound investment.
The neat gameplay amused Malone. Prescott would not have dreamed up all this: even down to details such as fresh flowers and jugs of iced water on the table. What had to be Cathy Price's computer system was at the far end of the office. He weighed up the implications of its presence in Government House.
He was even more intrigued and puzzled by Prescott's new chief executive and watched her surreptitiously. He noticed that she paid him the same compliment. At one point, while sipping his coffee, he succeeded in locking eye contact with her, but she didn't flinch away. An interesting woman, he decided, but where had he seen her before or heard her name? He allowed his inscrutability to slip by treating her to a knowing grin when she seated herself at Prescott's desk and prepared to take notes.
Malone unsettled Vanessa. There was something about the searching gaze of those wide-set eyes that suggested he was reading her thoughts. Well -- the meeting had served one useful purpose so far, and that was to show that Malone was dangerous. She guessed that he would say little and absorb much. `Right, gentlemen,' said Prescott briskly. `Let's get a few formalities out of way first. Mr Malone, I accept your resignation from the police force with great reluctance. I would like to thank you for the valuable service you have performed for your community, and that your job will be held open should you change your mind.' Without waiting for an acknowledgement, he went on, `Mr Baldock and Mr Weir. I feel you should follow Mr Malone's example and resign your seats on the council.'
`Why?' Baldock demanded. `We've done nothing to disqualify us.'
`You both t
ook part in that disgraceful incident at the Temple of Winds.'
`We stopped two illegal executions taking place. Nothing illegal about that, Prescott.'
`The question of your continuing membership of council will be discussed at the next council meeting.'
David observed that it was an academic point because council meetings were rarely held now.
`And, as a fugitive from justice, Ellen Duncan has disqualified herself,' said Prescott.
Baldock snorted. `Justice, my arse. Trumped-up charges, a kangaroo court, and sentencing delegated to a religious looney.'
`We'll put that down as unresolved otherwise we'll never get anywhere,' Prescott ruled. `The first item on the agenda is--'
`The bloody lies you've been putting about saying that the Country Brigade bombed the bakery last week,' said Baldock bluntly.
`So you said in the newsletter you circulated to every household,' Prescott observed.
`We had to do that because the radio station have hardly allowed us air-time during the day. Middle of the night if we're lucky. I'll give you my word, Prescott, that the Country Brigade had absolutely nothing to do with blowing up the bakery.'
Prescott was inclined to believe Dan Baldock. Much as he detested the waspish little pig farmer, he respected his integrity.
`So you stop all these crap discussions on the radio saying that we did it.'
`Radio Pentworth is independent,' Prescott replied. `The government has no say over its editorial content. If we were to interfere, the programme controller would rightly--'
`Bollocks. You appointed the controller. Now you're planning to privatize the station. You're like a pair of my pigs in shit toget--'
David jumped in. `I think, Dan, if the chairman were to draw the controller's attention to the need for balance, and if the Country Brigade is given equal studio time during the day, and the right to reply, we would be happy with that.'
`I'd certainly go along with that,' said Prescott.
Baldock grudgingly accepted.
First concession to the Country Brigade, thought Malone, and noticed that Vanessa Grossman's pencil was moving too quickly for normal writing. Shorthand, he guessed. A business background. A faded, forlorn estate agent's for sale board that he had seen on his jogs kicked his mind into gear. Grossman... Grossman Properties! He had her pinned down immediately: Vanessa Grossman -- boss of the Grossman Property Group -- Chichester --Portsmouth -- Southampton. He saw her leaving a courtroom, shunning Meridian TV cameras, racing for a car. The car burning rubber with snappers chasing after it. An aggrieved relative describing her to a TV reporter as a scheming little bleep with a heart of bleep, assuming she had one.
The pieces falling into place enabled Malone to quickly sum her up. A driving, ruthless talent cut off from its power base and looking for new conquests within the narrow confines of Pentworth. Prescott had a considerable degree of political acumen, and even social awareness, but it was nothing compared with the ruthless street-fighting cunning of Vanessa Grossman, now looking cool and self-effacing in a formal skirt and blouse as her pencil flew across her pad.
She sensed Malone's attention and looked straight at him. Malone was angry with himself when he realized that he was unable to hold the duel and turned his attention to Prescott. God dammit! First victory to Vanessa Grossman.
`I hope we've typed your list of demands accurately?' said Prescott.
`Negotiating points,' said David.
`Demands,' Baldock corrected bluntly. `The order they're in is not significant, Prescott. They're all of equal importance.' Which was not strictly true. Before the meeting the three delegates had decided that Prescott's agreement to the first point was crucial to the success of the conference.
`So let's take the first one, Mr Baldock,' said Prescott. `An immediate set aside of the convictions against Ellen Duncan and Victoria Taylor, and the repeal of the Witchcraft Act. That's actually two negotiating points, and neither are negotiable.'
`The persecution of those two is inhuman, Prescott! Posters all over the place offering rewards for information. It's got to stop!'
`The police are not actively searching for them,' said Prescott smoothly. `The reward posters are nothing to do with the government. But that doesn't change the fact that they're fugitives and should give themselves up.'
`No active searching?' snarled Baldock. `What fucking planet are you living on? There's hordes of those damned sentinel loonies scouring the countryside for them, descending mob-handed on farms and turning them over. Sometimes going back after 30 minutes and doing it all over again.'
`They're acting as private citizens. If they're being over-zealous -- exceeding their legal powers -- then there is machinery through the courts for dealing with them. I see no point in further argument on your first points.'
Nevertheless the argument dragged on for an hour. The Country Brigade appeared to win a concession from Prescott when he said that he would set up a court of appeal to re-examine the case. It was something he wanted to do all along to be shot of the wretched business but Vanessa had suggested that there were political Brownie points to be won if it was seen as a concession.
David was suspicious. `And what about the sentence? Will that be reviewed too if the court of appeal upholds the original verdicts?'
`How can I predict the outcome of a hearing by a court of appeal that hasn't been set up yet?' Prescott countered in some irritation.
`So you want Ellen and Vikki handed over in exchange for no guarantees for their safety?' Baldock summarised.
`I can promise you that they won't be handed over to Father Roscoe in his capacity as the lord of the manor.' `I don't trust you, Prescott,' said Baldock with his usual candour. `You need the milk and crop production of Pentworth House Farm even moreso now if we don't get something thrashed out today.'
Prescott shrugged.
`Let's come back to the first point when all the others are out of way,' David suggested. `Otherwise we're not going to make much progress.'
A sandwich lunch was served at the conference table and the negotiations lumbered on with Prescott being obdurate on important issues and giving way on relatively unimportant matters. He agreed to reduce the number of food and farm hygiene inspectors by five per cent but refused to curtail their formidable powers, which had cost many farmers dear. A request for a ten per cent increase in compensation for slaughtered livestock was negotiated down to five per cent. Prescott's frequent spouting of his favourite phrase: `I would be failing in my duty to the people as a whole if I...' annoyed Baldock to the point when he felt that he would be failing in his duty if he didn't hit Prescott with something large and heavy.
The discussion over civic amenities for rural areas degenerated into a row. Prescott pointed out that the government's long-term plans were an expansion of the telephone network so that every household and business would eventually have a free telephone.
Vanessa made a margin note about that; capital expenditure on social amenities did not figure highly in her priorities.
By 2:00pm very little progress had been made. A major sticking point was the decommissioning of the Country Brigade's weapons, including the handing over of the box of shotgun cartridges.
`How the hell can we agree to being disarmed when you're refusing to give way on everything, and when you've recruited a militia that's armed to the teeth?' Baldock wanted to know. `And where the hell did those machine guns come from?'
`The word is decommissioning,' Prescott pointed out.
`Now we're arguing semantics,' said David despairingly.
When the radio station asked for an interim statement for the 1500 news bulletin, Prescott said that the peace conference was proving useful and constructive; Baldock said that it was proving a time-wasting load of bollocks.
`We might as well come clean now as we don't seem to getting anywhere,' the pig farmer declared, glaring across the table at Prescott. `The Country Brigade won't enter into any agreement without a pardon for Ellen D
uncan and Vikki Taylor. You agree to announcing that today, and we'll give way on all our remaining points -- eight to twelve.'
Prescott was tempted: it would break the deadlock, and end the problem of the two women which had worried him sick ever since Roscoe's ruse over the arrest warrants, but Vanessa was giving him a gamma-ray warning glare that didn't escape Malone's notice.
`I have a suggestion to make,' said Malone, speaking for the first time. `Let's adjourn for forty-five minutes. I daresay Mr Prescott needs some legal advice, and we need to talk -- best done with beers in front of us in the Crown.'
He rose to forestall argument. Baldock and David followed suite with alacrity. Prescott shot a questioning look at Vanessa who was staring indifferently into the middle distance. That meant that she had no objections. `Perhaps that's not such a bad idea,' said Prescott, beaming.
Chapter 75.
A FEW MINUTES LATER at a table outside the Crown, Malone took an appreciative long swallow from his glass and observed that they had minders in the form of more police around the square than were necessary.
David grinned. `Your imagination is in overdrive, Mike. Cheers -- this was brilliant idea.'
`I was busting for a dump,' said Malone. `Guard my drink a couple of minutes.' He rose and entered the pub, his colleagues assumed that he had gone to use the toilets which, according to a sign, were now working.
But Malone had other ideas. He went through the pub, but instead of using the toilet in the pub's stable yard, he shinned nimbly over a locked gate and dropped into the service alley. He had chased enough villains around Pentworth to know his way around the town's maze of backyards, gardens, and alleys. Two more fences, a garden crossed, a fast trot down a another alley, a fence vaulted, and he was rapping on the open door of Bob Harding's workshop.
The scientist's eyes popped in alarm when he came to the door. `Hallo, Mike. How the devil did you get you get past Suzi?'
`By not going past her. Are you alone?'
`No.' Harding took Malone by the arm and guided him to a secluded bench near the end of the garden.
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