Wicca

by James Follett

  `Looks like your hayfever's still playing up, Bob.'

  Harding grunted. He seemed agitated in Malone's company. `What's the latest on Ellen and Vikki?'

  `Still fine as far as I know,' was Malone's guarded reply.

  `According to the radio, you're one of the delegates at today's conference.'

  `We've taken a beer break, so I haven't got long.'

  `You may have been followed here.'

  `Not the route I took. Selby's are to be congratulated on producing those Sterlings.'

  `I'm sorry, Mike, but I can't say where they came from, but producing a simple weapon like that is no great shakes for a competent engineering company.'

  `Let me guess -- they'd have to be much more than just competent to make ammunition?'

  `Mass producing ammunition is very specialized,' said Harding, clearly unhappy at the question. `I'm talking in general terms, you understand? Nothing specific to Pentworth.'

  `Of course. So if I wanted to set up a hypothetical production line to make ammo, and I had only limited resources, how long would I need?'

  Harding thought for a moment. `Such a hypothetical plant would take at least a month to produce large quantities of suitable ammunition. If you had promised to do it any sooner than that, then you'd be in trouble. And, of course, to make the guns, you'd need to test fire the barrels in a firing jig. That would mean using up all the genuine rounds you happened to have.'

  Malone stood. `The advice is much-appreciated, Bob.'

  `I don't think you fully understand me,' said Harding uneasily. `I said suitable ammunition. As a man of integrity, you would, of course, be wholly opposed to shortcuts which result in the limited production of unjacketed lead rounds.' A cold hand stirred Malone's bowels. `You mean dum-dum rounds?'

  `Your engineering plant might find it virtually impossible to nickel-jacket your rounds,' said Harding. `You might also find that your objections might be over-ruled by your political masters. I'm sure that that would make you very unhappy.'

  `Yes,' said Malone slowly. `It would.' He looked at the scientist and saw despair in the older man's eyes. `So I get over-ruled. How long would that mean before limited production of soft-nosed rounds would start?'

  `Three days,' said Harding heavily, and stared down at the ground.

  Malone touched the scientist on the shoulder. `Many thanks, Bob. Maybe I'll forget the whole idea.' He paused. `Do you still have that spare Spectrum transmitter?'

  Harding nodded. `I did as you said and told no one about it. Everyday I pray that the one in Government House will blow its main output transistor, but they're running it on low power into a decent antenna on the roof with plenty of gain. It'll last years.'

  `Maybe that spare will come in useful sooner or later. Be seeing you.'

  With that Malone disappeared into the depths of the garden and retraced his route so that he emerged casually from the pub fifteen minutes after he had vanished.

  `A policeman was worried about your absence,' said David. `We told him that it was due to some homemade vindaloo you'd been experimenting with.'

  `It seemed more plausible than a quickie with the barmaid,' Baldock added.

  Malone grinned and finished his drink. `I've been researching non-vindaloo explosives.'

  `We were talking about Prescott appearing keen to do some sort of deal over Ellen and Vikki,' said Baldock, who had long before decided that Malone was clever but weird. `Our guess is that he will if we keep up the pressure.'

  `He wants to,' said Malone. `But Vanessa Grossman is dead set against it.'

  `I can't see what it's got to do with her,' Baldock declared, downing the last of his second beer in one swallow. `She's only the town clerk. Better looking than Diana Sheldon, though. Do you reckon Prescott's perching on her nest?'

  `I can't see Vanessa Grossman going along with that,' said Malone drily. He briefed his two colleagues on who she was.

  `For Chrissake why didn't you tell us before the meeting?' Baldock growled.

  `I only realized who she was during the meeting.'

  `Does it matter who she is?' David queried.

  `It matters,' said Malone. `The whole style of government has changed. All that nonsense with guards of honour and their machine guns with empty magazines was meant to intimidate rather than impress.'

  `How do you know they were empty?' David asked.

  `I'll tell you afterwards. It wouldn't matter if she and Prescott have the same agenda. But I don't think that is the case. I've a hunch that Miss Vanessa Grossman is using us to put the skids under Asquith Prescott.'

  David couldn't help but laugh at that. `You amaze me, Mike. You'll be seeing Reds under the bed next. She strikes me as nothing but a quiet, efficient young lady sitting taking notes.' `And with more influence than Diana Sheldon ever had,' said Malone.

  `What makes you say that?'

  `Diana Sheldon was never able to wrangle herself a telephone in her home, yet our Vanessa's just got herself one.'

  David was disbelieving. `Now how the devil do you know that?'

  Malone grinned. `That little mishap I had in Prescott's outer office resulted in a copy of the Pentworth telephone directory ending up in my pocket. Only two typed sheets. Vanessa's name, address and number has been added by hand as an amendment. She's quieter and more efficient than you think, David.'

  Chapter 76.

  AT THAT MOMENT VANESSA was being anything but quiet. `You've given in enough as it is, Prescott. To go further would be serious threat to democracy.'

  `It occurred to me,' said Prescott, `that it would be a good idea to go along with the pardon provided Harvey Evans returns to government service with his microlight. That way, they get what they want, and we gain control of the microlight. I'm not happy with the Country Brigade having air power.'

  Vanessa snorted. `We have nothing to fear from that thing unless you're scared of flour bombs. The Country Brigade don't have the resources to make explosives whereas we will have within a month.'

  `Even so, I don't suppose Harvey is happy being away from his home and his hives. He's an old friend, Miss Grossman. I owe him that much.'

  Vanessa thought it an excellent idea -- from Prescott's point of view. She poured scorn on it, saying that no democratically-elected government could afford to bow to terrorism. Give in on one thing, and they'd be demanding something else. If the Country Brigade wanted power-sharing then they could field candidates in the following year's elections, and if they really wanted a peaceful settlement, then let them demonstrate their supposedly good intentions by agreeing to hand over their weapons.

  Prescott conceded that she had a point although his political instinct was to find room for compromise.

  `We'll be forcing them into a corner, Miss Grossman.'

  `Which is precisely where they belong.'

  When the meeting reconvened, Prescott told the three delegates that the setting aside of the convictions against Ellen and Vikki had to be conditional on the Country Brigade agreeing to the decommissioning of their weapons.

  `In that case,' said Baldock, `we've achieved exactly nothing today. We've never got on in the past, Prescott, yet I've always thought of you as having some political savvy. Seems I was wrong. You leave us with no alternative but to start operating sanctions. As from midnight all food deliveries to the town will cease.'

  Prescott looked indifferent. `We now have a police reserve large enough to cope with all deliveries.'

  `Touch one potato and we start selective burning of crops.'

  The only sound in the room was Vanessa moving Prescott's telephone to the window sill so that she could use it with her back to the meeting. Her demeanour was of someone wishing to make a private call without disturbing anyone, but Malone suspected that this was not the case.

  `That would be extremely foolish,' said Prescott at length.

  Baldock stood -- the signal for David and Malone to do likewise. He stuffed his papers into a briefcase and glowered at Prescott. `Who's bei
ng foolish here? All we want is for the convictions against Ellen and Vikki to be set aside, and in return you get concessions from us all the way down the line. If you want to play some stupid game of brinkmanship, Prescott, then the Country Brigade will be happy to shove you over a brink of your making.' He paused and looked around the big office with its expensive furniture and humming air-conditioning. `You and this whole rotten, corrupt set up you've got here will be wiped out.'

  Chapter 77.

  THE THREE DELEGATES were silent in the car taking them home. Anything the chauffeur overheard would be certain to get back to Prescott.

  A kilometre south of Pentworth they encountered a police roadblock.

  `What the hell's this?' Baldock muttered as the car slowed.

  It was no ordinary vehicle or cart roadside safety check that were now commonplace, but a serious roadblock with a Commer van parked across the road and several police armed with the new Sterling copies in attendance. Three of them approached the vehicle, two stood their distance while one carefully examined the identity cards of the four occupants.

  `Just following orders, sir,' said the policeman in answer to Baldock's questions. `Okay -- all in order.' He waved the Commer aside.

  `Any ideas?' Malone asked the driver once they had resumed their journey.

  `None at all, sir. It wasn't here an hour ago.' The driver seemed genuinely puzzled.

  Roadblocks work in two directions. From its layout, Malone's surmise was that it was intended primarily to deal with traffic entering the town. He had a shrewd idea that its appearance was linked to Vanessa Grossman's phone calls and that it was likely that all the roads into the town were also blocked.

  Another kilometre and the driver was forced to slow to pass an angry crowd that had gathered around the Volvo bus that was used for shoppers and schoolchildren. The bus stop it was parked at was a drop-off point for children. Some women were arguing with the driver, others were in a state of near-hysteria.

  `Stop the car!' Baldock yelled.

  `My orders are to take you to your destinations,' the driver protested.

  Baldock wasn't interested in the driver's orders. He flung the car door open, forcing the driver to brake and protest volubly as his passengers piled out and ran back to the bus.

  `Mrs Lawrence, isn't it?' Baldock queried. `What's the problem?'

  The woman who was the chief remonstrator turned and looked immensely relieved to see the new arrivals. `Mr Baldock -- my Jane and Damion aren't on the bus!'

  There was a chorus of exclamations from several other anxious mothers with similar stories about missing offspring. Baldock held up his hands for quiet and asked the bus driver what the hell was going on.

  `I called at the school at my usual time,' said the driver. `The deputy headmistress came out and gave me this list of kids that wouldn't be taking the bus. I thought maybe they'd gone on an outing or something and that their parents knew. Then I get here and all hell breaks loose.'

  Baldock looked at the list that the driver handed down. He didn't recognise all the first names, but many of the surnames were familiar enough: they were country names.

  The first hostages had been taken.

  Chapter 78.

  HARVEY EVANS ENTERED DAVID'S kitchen at Temple Farm a few minutes before 6:00pm. Malone, David, and Baldock looked expectantly at him. He sat at the kitchen table with the three men, his face lined with worry. Music was playing on a portable radio.

  `You were right, Malone,' said the former police inspector. `The roadblocks are keeping country folk of the town. My trap was turned back. When I moaned the so-called police officers were sympathetic but they said that they had strict orders. There was a Mrs Tinnings at the roadblock -- worried out of her mind. Her two children haven't come home. Jessie Tinnings, aged seven. And Michael, eleven.'

  `That makes 22 kids,' said Baldock grimly, adding the names to a clipboard.

  The music on the radio cross-faded to commercials.

  `Vanessa Grossman's telephone calls when Dan issued the sanctions ultimatum,' Malone commented, adding drily, `You're right, of course, David -- she certainly is very quiet and very efficient. Not in the way you meant, I imagine.'

  `Hostages!' Evans snapped angrily. `Prescott may be a shit, but this isn't like him.'

  `I did say there's been a change of style at Government House,' Malone observed.

  The radio presenter announced the six o'clock news. David turned the volume up.

  `And we start with an important statement from our chairman, Mr Asquith Prescott.'

  `Good evening, citizens of Pentworth,' said Prescott, striking a sombre note. `As you know, an important conference was held today between your government and the so-called Country Brigade with the aim of bringing peace to our tiny community. It was our hope that reason and goodwill would prevail, but this was not to be. It is with great regret that I have to inform you that our efforts to find a peaceful solution to our differences have failed.

  `Despite numerous concessions from the government, such as our agreement to reduce the number of farm inspectors, and to increase compensation to farmers where livestock has had to be destroyed, the Country Brigade steadfastly refused to discuss any agreement to decommission their arms, and they insisted on an amnesty for their members convicted of crimes. We offered to refer such cases to a court of appeal for review, a reasonable enough move, as I am sure you will agree, but the Country Brigade rejected it out of hand. Finally, and most serious of all, they stated their intention of burning crops if they did not get their way.'

  Prescott paused. `Given our present circumstances and the very fragile nature of our atmosphere, I know that I do not have to spell out the disastrous consequences of such actions. The thought of burning farms damaging our atmosphere and depriving us of the food that we shall need to see us through the coming winter hardly bears thinking about. Fire is our greatest enemy therefore our thoughts must immediately turn to the protection of our greatest asset -- innocent and vulnerable bystanders in all this -- our children.

  `We have two fire engines, and a willing team of professional and part-time fire-fighters -- capable men and women as they have shown on many occasions, but even they could not cope with a campaign of deliberate burning of farms. The thought of children dying of suffocation in smoke-filled bedrooms in remote difficult-to-reach farms as a result of terrorist actions by a fanatical minority is something we refuse to countenance...

  `Over half a century ago, the children of England faced a similar threat from such tyrants. As a result, they were moved to places of safety -- they were evacuated... My late elder brother was such an evacuee. Just as our parents moved us from danger, so we must we must follow their fine example and do the same for our children. We have therefore issued orders that those children most at risk should be placed in the care of families in the town until the danger is over -- when the tyrants of the Country Brigade have been crushed. Thank you for listening to me.'

  David angrily snapped the radio off. `Lies! How can that man spout such downright lies!'

  `Not so much lies, but plenty of distortion as a result of some neat wording,' said Malone. `Note how Dan's selective burning of crops has become burning of farms. And child hostages passed off as evacuees. A clever linkage with World War II.'

  `Have you come to praise Caesar or bury him?' David demanded. `The bastard's holding 22 country children hostage!'

  `They won't come to any harm,' Malone answered. `He would not risk lying when he said that they had been placed in the care of town families -- and he certainly can't risk them coming to any harm -- that really would be political suicide -- for him and everyone riding on his coat tails. We must act, and fast. My information is that within three days ammunition will be available for those imitation Sterlings. At the moment those magazines are empty. When they do get some ammo, they won't be proper rounds. They'll be made of unjacketed lead because they're easier to make. In other words, dum-dum bullets. No matter where you're hit by one o
f those things, an artery is certain to be shredded and you die.'

  The four men were silent for some moments.

  `How good is your information?' Baldock demanded.

  `Believe me, Malone's information is always good,' said Evans with some feeling.

  `We have to think also of those poor women who've been shut up in that cave for two weeks,' said David.

  Malone turned his gaze on Baldock. `When we left Prescott's office today, Dan, your parting words to him were that his whole rotten set-up would be wiped out. I've always been concerned about your tendency for bluntness, and your eagerness for direct action. Much as I dislike many politicians, politics is a great invention because it enables differences to be settled without conflict. But politics has failed. Direct action is the only course open to us now -- therefore it must be a course that will achieve our aims with the least spilling of blood.' He paused for a few moments before continuing. `We should spend the rest of today and all of tomorrow on planning, and make a decisive move tomorrow night. The time has come for us to go for the jugular. A quick kill.'

  Baldock grinned suddenly. `Sounds like my kind of talk, Malone.'

  Chapter 79.

  THE SPYDER SURFACED in the centre of Pentworth Lake.

  It listened intently. Dusk was closing in. A hungry hedgehog nearby was making an early start on its nightly foraging. There was the snuffling of badgers, leaving their setts with the coming of darkness. The spyder extended an infra-red and visible light sensor to a height of several metres and swept the surrounding terrain to ensure that no humans were nearby.

  All was clear. The sensor was retracted. There was an eruption of marsh gas bubbles released from the depths of the lake which heralded the sudden arrival on the surface of a coffin-like casket. The spyder towed the casket towards the sandy shore where the bathing beach had been created. The casket grounded and the spyder left the water to haul laboriously on a fine thread until the casket was several metres clear of the sand, resting on grass.

  One control caused the outlines of the casket to shimmer. The spyder waited while the casket vaporized, giving off a thin white cloud that was rapidly absorbed into the atmosphere, leaving the still, naked form of a man lying on the grass. His pillow was a bundle of his clothes.