by Phil Walden
So, the two left the hospital, disagreeing and quarrelling, debating every little point of contention, with a familiarity born of a growing mutual fondness neither would have recognised or admitted.
Chapter Seventeen
The days leading up to the 1900 Committee meetings were always fraught. Junior shadow ministers were sent out to test the waters, gauge the mood and try to discover the probable lines of attack which could be made against the party’s hierarchy. In that way it was hoped that plans could be made, people picked off, promises proffered, which would subsequently take the sting out of the occasion. This enabled a veneer of unity and joint purpose to be presented to the waiting Press pack, ever ready to explore and exploit the merest hint of a schism.
The idea of a regular meeting of backbenchers had been Devaney’s, instigated immediately after his accession to the leadership. In the wake of grumblings about decisions being made by a carefully selected coterie of the last incumbent’s friends, he had promised more democracy and greater accountability within the party. This particular concept had gone down well amongst MPs, so despite Carlton’s reservations and protestations, he had pressed ahead. To his friends and allies the regular three monthly meetings would be a useful mechanism to listen and consult, to his enemies an outlet for protest and dissent.
However, neither friend nor foe had foreseen the speed with which the widespread anger at the election defeat and the dissatisfaction with the leadership would threaten Devaney’s position. Nor did they realise that meetings of the 1900 Committee would become the ideal platform to launch and orchestrate a challenge. Pressure had grown in the two gatherings held so far this year. Each of the hopefuls, whilst maintaining the pretence of steadfast loyalty, sent out coded signals of both their ambition and willingness to step into the breach should a vacancy arise.
Dominic Wilson had been the front runner. Impatient to see a more expansive environmental policy introduced, one which he felt would be at the heart of a rejuvenation of British manufacturing, he had captured the imagination of the faithful. His youth and vigour contrasted sharply with Devaney’s more considered and piecemeal approach. The accusation that he was a bit of a one trick pony had not stopped him building substantial support across the centre and left of the party. His unexpected death left that support searching for a new candidate to carry the fight for a robust and radical programme at the heart of party policy.
The unceasing firebrand that was Alex McKenzie had inevitably thrown his hat into the ring. He had stood unsuccessfully in the last two leadership contests. He was regarded as divisive and extreme, someone who would alienate the votes of the middle class south, support perceived as essential if the party was ever going to achieve a working majority. But the onset of the recession and the widening gap between rich and poor demanded action if the concept of a truly United Kingdom was to have any long term credence. What better vehicle to take action than the much derided State, to guarantee that, be it recession or recovery, we must all truly be in it together. Suddenly McKenzie appeared to be back in vogue.
The outwardly unwanted but ultimately persuasive tag of “safe pair of hands” had belonged to Caroline Bruce. She had made the tour of the tearooms and offices of MPs and hinted at her intentions, should regrettably a leadership contest be forced upon the party and Jim decide to step aside. No one could doubt her appealing manner, her unshakeable poise and acute political skills. At forty three years of age she had acceded to the Shadow Home Office brief and seemed ready to take the final step. Within Westminster but also across the country, people liked and respected her.
The abortion bombshell had shattered this cunningly crafted and carefully maintained persona. The media, scenting the irresistible blood of wounded political prey, were ruthless. She did not even try to hang on. She had played the system, knew the score and so departed to the backbenches.
Her departure left the right wing of the party struggling. They now lacked a convincing candidate of their own. The faction’s undisputed leader was Harry Spenser but certain factors made him the rank outsider and worked against his chances of success. A public school background and barely disguised arrogance did not endear him to the wider party or to the public at large, dismayed as some of them were that the two hundred year march to democracy had somehow led to an administration of Old Etonians back at the heart of power. Nonetheless his cohort remained loyal and his support was viewed as potentially decisive in any immediate contest.
To many in the party, the arrival of Tom Catchpole was timely. He seemed to combine the key attributes of all the other candidates but without any of the weaknesses. His environmental experience and success in California made him the natural successor to Wilson and, if anything, he had added impressive depth and breadth to the party’s green credentials. Supporters of McKenzie were drawn to his admiration for the State as a vehicle for change. Most of all, it remained the only force strong enough to resist and combat the power of avaricious global corporations, ever willing to pressure governments, and trample national concerns in their search for profit. Finally and crucially, he was an old friend of Harry Spenser and seemed to share his views on reclaiming a degree of power and independence from Brussels. Since Catchpole’s return from America, the two had spent a great deal of time together, with some commentators musing on how much of this was merely social or the forging of a political alliance. Whatever the reason, it was widely accepted that if Spenser could deliver the right wing of the party, then his friend’s chances of a sensational victory would be greatly enhanced.
Therefore it was no surprise that when Catchpole rose to address the assembly of backbenchers in one of the large committee rooms in the Palace of Westminster, there was an unmistakeable frisson of excitement and anticipation. Devaney had asked him to speak first. He had every confidence in Catchpole. He would surely save the day. An outline of the young man’s environmental vision would set the tone thought necessary for the leader to survive. The message would be clear: this party was ready for change and determined to meet the challenges ahead. Whether Devaney believed it or not didn’t matter. It would rally the troops, deflect any criticism and neutralise any rumblings of discontent, which if inflamed, might lead to matters spiralling out of control.
The applause was loud and sustained, even from the rank of Shadow cabinet ministers who lined the front row. They dared not be seen to be any less enthusiastic than the MPs who crowded onto the benches behind them.
Tom Catchpole prowled the raised platform. The early part of his speech did indeed focus on all matters green and he seemed to finish on a rousing note. “We live in the most difficult of times. We face economic recession, rising unemployment and the threat of global catastrophe. Friends, there’s never been a better time to be brave. Let’s embrace bold investments in renewable energy, fuel efficiency, green technology, solar power and tidal barrages. Let’s make every house a power station in itself and fuel the revival of our manufacturing base. Let’s deliver more jobs and more hope and create a sustainable and prosperous economy in a modern and forward thinking Britain.”
But to Devaney’s surprise, Catchpole did not stop. He proceeded to range far and wide in denial of the agreed brief. Full employment, a living minimum wage, renewed respect for trade unions, shared control of businesses with their workers, mass house building programmes, a sustained attack upon tax evasion, curbs on the powers of corporations and a People’s Bank dedicated to investments primarily in British industry all formed part of a fresh vision for the country.
But if that was a shock, what followed, as Catchpole brought his address to an end, was staggering.
“This will be a recovery shared by all, with a prosperity shared by all. Opportunity, justice and fairness will be at the centre of our country, at the heart of what we are and what we do. In that way we can empower the people and rebuild trust in our democracy. For be warned. When people turn their backs on politics, it serves only to strengthen the rich and the powerful. We can, we must
and we will take the lead.”
Applause resounded around the room. Some began to stand but the outstretched palms of the speaker demanded calm.
“Thank you, thank you for allowing me to introduce what I firmly believe is a blueprint for future success. For you and for all the people, today, together, we launch the New Left, a truly revolutionary movement to revive and enrich twenty first century Britain!”
Anticipating the end of the speech, members rose as one to cheer, Devaney and Carlton amongst the first, anxious to bring this verbal tour de force to an end.
But Catchpole stood still and resolute. The room fell silent again as people returned to their seats.
His voice was calm, assured and authoritative. “We have lived under the shadow of the Great Betrayer for too long. It is time to stop apologising for what we did and did not do, when last in government. It’s time to set out and develop a new and coherent set of policies in preparation for a return to power. Today I have offered just such a vision for the future of this great party and for this great nation of ours. But I have to ask, as the people of this country will undoubtedly ask, can we deliver? Can we defeat the forces of wealth and privilege which, year after year, government after government, promise so much but achieve so little? Sadly the answer at present is a resounding no.”
There were gasps from the audience. Devaney sat impassive, looking straight ahead. Harry Spenser allowed a thin, barely discernible smile to creep across his face. This was the time, this was the moment.
Catchpole did not disappoint. “You know there is an old saying. A fish rots from the head down. You must ask yourselves. Who has the strength to make the massive changes, the big decisions necessary to return this party to government?” His voice was now forceful and commanding. “We have a leader who can’t. We have a leader who won’t.” He paused, lifting his head to gaze straight into the eyes of the stunned and hushed audience. “It’s time you had a leader who will!”
Shouts of approval and wild applause erupted. MPs rose to their feet. A prolonged standing ovation followed. To anyone who happened to glance at either Devaney or Carlton, one the bloodied boxer, the other the concerned trainer, they would have concluded the game was up, the fight over and the battle lost. A beaming Catchpole meanwhile strolled across the stage, hands aloft in triumph and in celebration of the victory which, to all those present, appeared to be his.
Chapter Eighteen
The meeting with Start and Olivia was short. Deacon was anxious to warn them. They must be careful. The forensics from the explosion on the boat had come in from the police. The device was small but sophisticated. The police suspected it was planted not to kill but to injure. They wanted Start to try and recall any altercation with anyone who might want to carry out such retribution. Their suspicions and enquiries still lay in the local area and with the Sheikh having gone to ground, he remained their chief suspect. Start knew it was bigger than that. He was being frightened off. From what? The search for Angel or any pursuit of a link to Catchpole? He was now more anxious than ever to pay a visit to Hereward College and drag the truth out of its duplicitous headmaster.
The two departed, leaving behind an increasingly worried man. Deacon also suspected the motive behind the explosion did not lie in the desire of a damaged war veteran to be simply left alone. But the soldier’s previous expertise and record might mean he was working for someone. More importantly, Deacon had begun to believe the reason encompassed more than a missing woman and the possibility of a connection to an upwardly mobile politician.
Firstly, Donnelly’s photographs had taken the whole issue of Start’s and his dismissals to a new level. This was not merely the story of a Government peer being shielded from public disgrace, with all the fallout and bad publicity which would inevitably accompany such a revelation. Something more sinister and possibly dangerous was being hidden. Deacon was forced to admit to himself that he was more than a little disturbed. He would have liked to have come clean, shared the full story and all of its possible implications with Start, and with Olivia too. Her intelligence and insight invited that trust, her commitment and dedication demanded it.
But he couldn’t. Start wasn’t ready. He would have reacted angrily and might well have gone off on a protracted and vindictive rage. Or sat stony faced and resentful as he was told about the search for the concierge and the identification of Coburn at the hotel. Deacon liked to think that a look of surprise and grudging admiration might have flickered briefly across his face as he himself admitted to the monitoring of their boss’s phone. The biblical names mentioned in the voicemail records and the covert shots sent up by Donnelly would have convinced Start that much of the picture he had so long imagined and suspected, was now falling into place. Perhaps his prime response would have been one of relief, relief that he had been right all along, that he had indeed stumbled across something momentous and might yet be vindicated.
Secondly and crucially, Deacon now knew the identity of the fifth man. The television news that day had extensively covered the annual gathering in Switzerland of the world’s top business executives and key politicians, largely because an assortment of protest groups had followed them. These were now encamped in the hope of disrupting what they saw as a wholly undemocratic but highly influential circus of the rich and powerful. Intense security kept both these and prying lenses at a considerable distance but a number of those in attendance were spotted and filmed.
Henry Lighterman was one such figure. For many years he had shunned the public spotlight but Deacon had recognised him by the shock of swept back blond hair, the crisply tailored linen suit and tan coloured brogues, which had once been his trademark. He immediately began to delve into Lighterman’s background. It took the best part of two days but what Deacon found served to disturb him profoundly.
The search engine threw up few links to Lighterman himself. A potted biography described him as a quintessential Englishman, a multi billionaire, one who had made his fortune in the energy business, with particular interests in the oil and nuclear sectors. It claimed that he was now investing heavily in the search for and development of fusion energy. He was also known to bankroll charities with whose causes he found favour. A current list of those charities with the addresses of their individual websites was given but beyond that no more information about him was forthcoming. A few links to media outlets followed, but these were all stories relating to the energy industry, where Lighterman’s name, although mentioned, was peripheral to the central thrust of each article.
However, Deacon’s curiosity was aroused by the final site listed, that of a far left magazine whose prime purpose was to track down and monitor potential threats to democracy in this country. The content of the article focussed on a small and esoteric movement called The League of Albion. Deacon had vaguely heard of it but, as far as he knew, the movement had made no progress in establishing a broader public profile. Indeed, the piece itself was ancient and wouldn’t have detained him for a moment except for the fact that it named a dozen or so individuals who it claimed had donated to the movement that year. Listed among the benefactors was the name of Henry Lighterman. Deacon switched his search immediately.
The League’s own website described its ideology as one born out of a deep concern for the future of the planet. Humans were leading the world to destruction. Unfettered capitalism demanded that finite resources be greedily harvested without any thought of renewal. Population growth continued unabated devouring the habitats of a mass of other species, which were doomed to eventual extinction. The resultant pollution contaminated our soil, poured into the seas and fouled the air we breathed. Mankind as a species was facing certain destruction. The ice caps were melting, sea levels rising and extreme weather patterns becoming common. The world was at a tipping point. Something drastic had to be done.
To The League, Deacon discovered, fusion energy was the key. In this kind of reaction two light atomic nuclei fused together to form a heavy nucleus and by doing s
o, released a huge amount of energy. The subsequent waste was limited and had a short life span. Thus fusion was clean, safe, plentiful and relatively inexpensive in relation to the fission process currently employed. As a result the stated aim was to build what was effectively “a star on Earth”, the Holy Grail pursued by scientists for over fifty years.
What distinguished the League’s position from that of others, was its belief in the use of deuterium in the fusion process. It was claimed this offered incredible levels of sustainability. Known reserves would last three thousand years and deuterium from sea water would offer a guaranteed supply for sixty million years. Most important of all was the fact that carbon dioxide, the chief element in global warming, was not a by-product. Yet, at present, no experiment had succeeded in producing a positive energy gain, the energy needed to fuse the atoms together being more than that extracted.
So far so good, thought Deacon. Who could argue with such a stance? But then he turned to study the political section of the website where the group proposed a new, radical and contentious doctrine. Proponents were under no illusions that any change would necessitate taking on and defeating heavily entrenched vested interests, intent on preserving the status quo. Nor would it be easy to persuade the wider public to accept the immediate hardships necessitated by the switch to fusion and the inevitability of temporary power shortages. Nevertheless, it had to be done and they proposed a model, a revolutionary solution, which would threaten the very core of governance in the western world.
Quite simply, it was The League’s belief that democracy was outmoded. Britain was used as a case study. No administration at present was able to govern for the long term. The five year parliamentary cycle meant ministers were forced to adopt short term measures, forever pandering to fickle voters for fear of defeat in a forthcoming election. Parties merely competed for the crucial centre ground, abandoning principle for pragmatism, conviction for platitudes.