by Andie Fessey
Making a quick visit to the disabled toilet, upon returning to the lounge, Stumpy retrieved the baseball bat from where he left it.
Eve noticed this, but did not say anything as she would prefer it nearby, in case they needed it.
After saying their goodbyes to Louise and Keith, they walked outside to where her car stood parked. Even though The Anchor stood away from any main road, they clearly heard the distant sounds of sirens. The noise of the distant traffic, sounded far louder than usual for this time of morning.
Climbing into the driver’s side of the car she leant over, opening the passenger door for him.
Pulling away from the kerb, he stole a glance at her.
One solitary tear slowly made its way down her cheek, glistening in the light of the morning sun through the sun roof.
He sighed to himself.
He knew from her ashen face when he returned from the toilets earlier, she looked at the corpse of her son’s friend.
He also knew she probably noticed, like he himself, the hand on one of the outstretched arms held within its frozen grip, a large clump of hair.
Hair, the same colour as Brads.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The black SUV he was being chauffeured in, slowly approached the side gates leading to a carpark located at the side of the football stadium.
Its darkly tinted windows, as black as its paintwork, prevented anybody from seeing who occupied the rear of the vehicle.
From the throng of the crowd amassed outside this morning, they may have already guessed the identity of the occupant.
It was common knowledge of his love for the English football team.
He ordered his driver to stop the vehicle, before they entered the security of the staff compound.
Around his muscular shoulders, broad and taut even in his sixties, he wore the long, blue scarf adorning the name and emblem of his beloved football team.
Also, a well-known fact, he invested in a substantial number of shares in the club, but any dividends from the shares did not really interest him, having enough money in his various accounts to buy the club several times over. It was purely a way of showing his commitment to the legions of fellow supporters of the club all over the world.
It remained a passion to him, not an investment.
“Yo Jim,” he said to his driver, “gimme a few minutes with these guys and I’ll be right back.”
Jim knew better than to argue with him, and in Jim’s mind he would never even consider it.
He chauffeured many ‘VIPs’ throughout the years he worked for his company after leaving the army. Most, sadly, were ignorant, never exchanging small talk, full of their own pomp and importance and believing in the opinion they were truly special.
Not this guy though.
He watched the Hollywood ‘star’ exit the vehicle and greet the crowd with handshakes and pats on the back, patiently standing and smiling, often raising a muscular arm in a mock boxing pose, for many of the photographs being taken of him.
This guy is the real deal.
He watched the crowd carefully for any of the usual danger signs. Though not once in the last several years of chauffeuring him around, when he paid visits to this side of the ‘Pond’, there occurred any trouble whatsoever.
This was somebody genuinely respected, holding a fond place in people’s hearts, no matter their background.
He telephoned the reception to let them know they were on the premises. The receptionist sounded excited, as she normally did when his companion arrived at the stadium.
“I’ll let Sir Derek know he’s here,” she said, before hanging up.
At least half of an hour passed by whilst photographs were taken by the excited crowd.
“Hey Boss, there’s a call for you,” Jim said, winding his window down, a long-standing ruse they employed to call to a close these types of diversions from their itinerary.
His companion returned to the vehicle, head turning to the crowd as he waved at them.
His muscular frame stepping into the rear of the SUV, they drove the several metres to the car parking bay.
Exiting the vehicle, Jim made his way to the passenger side to open the door, but his companion already let himself out, leaning inside to grab his holdall.
“One of these days you’ll actually let me open the door for you” Jim said, smiling as he slid the door closed.
“Save it for being chivalrous with the ladies Jim,” the reply came, with a low chuckle and his distinctive grin.
Walking to the stadium, the entrance door opened, as a man stepped into the overcast morning.
“Gabe,” he said, walking across the tarmac to greet them and taking a firm hold of his hand in greeting, “so good to see you again, old boy.”
“Sir Dereck,” he replied, shaking his hand, “you think I’d come all the way over to this side of the pond and not drop in to pay a visit to the blues?”
“Less of the Sir,” Sir Dereck said, chuckling, “it rather makes me feel antiquated.”
“Well you know what they say,” Gabe said, placing his muscular arm over the other man’s shoulders, “if the Knighthood fits, wear it.”
Sir Dereck, knighted several years previously, for his contribution to the world of Arts, spent his youth working on the dockyards of Liverpool, before leaving to join a theatrical group, ending up on the stages of the West End.
He appeared in several major, successful movies, before taking a prominent role behind the camera, directing an equal number of movies.
Rewarded with two Oscars for Best Director and Best Screenplay, for his bittersweet, tragic romance, ‘Dignity amongst fools’, he turned his sights on taking over ownership of the local premiership football team he worshipped since a youngster.
Entering the reception area, Jim following closely behind, Gabe crossed to the reception desk to say hello to the woman seated there.
She sat blushing and as soon as the trio of men stepped into the elevator, taking them the few storeys up to the conference rooms, she telephoned her mother to let her know she met the screen star again.
The three men walked passed the conference rooms to a door at the end of the long corridor.
Sir Dereck opened the door and they entered a bright room, with leather chairs facing a large reception desk.
His personal receptionist nowhere to be seen, they made their way across the room to a larger set of doors constructed of plain beech wood, affixed to one of them, a brass plaque, engraved with the wording ‘Sir Dereck Russell – Chairman’.
“A new door?” Gabe asked.
“Yes,” he replied, opening one of them, “the previous door had become decidedly well past its ripe old age and did seem to one as rather ostentatious.”
“Classy yet simple,” Gabe remarked, “I like it.”
“If you dropped the ‘classy’ part that is exactly how my dear wife would describe me.”
“I doubt that very much,” Gabe replied, smiling as he and Sir Dereck entered through the open doorway.
Jim sat on one of the leather chairs, picking a magazine from a glass coffee table nearby, rifling through its pages.
The room was extremely spacious, three of the walls adorned with paintings and photographs of the club’s finest moments. The fourth wall, a huge window, took up the width of the room. A large oval table dominated the room to one side.
Sir Dereck’s large mahogany desk stood directly across the room ahead of them.
Sir Dereck sat in the large leather seat located behind the desk whilst Gabe sat in a leather seat equally impressive.
Producing a box from one of the drawers contained within the desk, Sir Dereck opened it, leaning across the desk to offer its contents to his guest.
“Louixs? Nice,” Gabe said, carefully taking one of the expensive cigars from the box.
He long since stopped asking if it was fine to smoke inside the Chairman’s room, Sir Dereck replying it being one of his only indulgences in life.
Aside from the Football club and several luxurious homes around the world.
Taking the guillotine cutter, his companion offered, Gabe carefully made a cut at the head of the cigar he held in his hand.
“Have you caught anything on the news over here, about the attacks happening?” Sir Dereck asked.
“Jim said there were some really bad attacks last night,” Gabe replied, placing the cigar to his lips, drawing through it.
“Oh, they continued through the night,” Sir Dereck said, passing across the desk, an ornate, engraved silver butane lighter, “it seems like there some sort of major situation going on at our local hospital.”
“It’s not something you hear about going on much over here on this side of the water,” Gabe said, taking the lighter and holding the cigar at a forty-five degrees angle, holding the tip of the flame directly underneath its tuck end.
“Certainly, isn’t dear friend, quite a bit of a shock all round.”
Gently rotating the cigar as he toasted it, Gabe looked at the large window overlooking the football pitch.
“Not stopping the training, though is it?” He asked, the end of the cigar completely glowing now.
“Good heavens, no Gabe. We have the semis coming up next week and the way the lads have been playing of late, every bit of extra training helps”
Placing the cigar in his mouth, Gabe puffed on it gently, rotating the cigar over the tip of the flame, until it flared up until the entire foot of it glowed.
Reclining into the large chair, he relaxed his broad frame into its comfort.
“Gotta love that good old British spirit,” he said, smiling.
“Ah, it is just a few isolated incidents Gabe. If it were in most other countries, nobody would batter so much as an eyelid.”
“There were a few bad incidents in Philly back in the day,” Gabe replied, “but I guess anything like this happening over here, is bound to make big news pretty quick.”
“How long are you over for?” Sir Derick said, nodding as he began the ritual of lighting his cigar.
“Booked into a hotel tonight in the city, after I’ve watched the training, then I’ll be heading back down to London at first light.”
“Nonsense Gabe, you should come and stay with us this evening. Margaret and the children would love to see you and you know how much young Jonathan admires your work.”
“Still into big guns and even bigger explosions then I take it?” Gabe asked, his trademark grin spreading across his face.
“As always, my dear friend, as always.”
“It would be a pleasure Dereck. It’ll be real good to see Margaret and the kids.”
“Then it is a plan, my dear friend,” Sir Dereck said, settling into his seat.
“Training will be going on into early hours this evening, but I know that the lads would be delighted to see you again.”
“A done deal,” Gabe replied, “I may even go out to kick a ball or two at the net myself while I’m here.”
“Now that, my dear fellow, “Sir Dereck replied, “would make for an excellent photographic opportunity.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
He arisen from the bed he shared with his wife, in the early hours of the morning.
The telephone on his bedside cabinet rang, so he lowered the volume so as not to awaken his wife.
He hoped he would not receive this call, but the voice on the other end of the line confirmed his worst fears.
Receiving calls about the escalation of violence the previous evening, he mistakenly hoped things would have been swiftly brought under control.
Entering the bathroom, he allowed the cascading jets of water within the shower cubicle to heat up, until clouds of steam filled the spacious tiled room.
He did not want to place the extractor fan on, knowing the noise always awoke his wife.
After showering under the invigorating jets of hot water, he made his way to the walk-in wardrobe at the opposite end of their bedroom.
One of his many suits hung there ready for him to adorn.
Many of the suits either beige or navy, but the one laid out before him, a black one, plain with a notched jacket collar, two buttons and double vents.
Almost finishing dressing, he stood in front of the full-length mirror near the far end of the wardrobe, adjusting his dark blue tie over his crisp white shirt.
Frowning, he looked at his reflection, he knew today would not be easy.
His wife stirred as he walked across to leave their bedroom.
Walking to her, he gently kissed her on the forehead.
She smiled then rolled over, snuggling into the warmth of the silk bed linen.
He made his way from their private residence to the stairway leading to the next floor, met at the next flight down by one of the men attached to him.
They exchanged greetings then walked into the building next door.
Pausing for a moment, he looked from one of the windows facing the interior courtyard.
Sighing, he carried on walking.
They made their way to his personal office, his secretary stood waiting outside the closed door.
“Has anybody arrived yet George?”
A tall man, standing at least four inches taller than himself, his hawk-like features and his prominent Adams apple not looking suitable with his Saville Row suit.
Yet one of the loyalist and most intelligent men he ever met in his career.
“Not yet sir,” George replied, opening the door.
The man who escorted him, waited positioned outside the door as they entered his office.
“Too early in the morning for ‘Sir’ George,” he said, walking to the trolley containing his breakfast and coffee.
“My apologies, Michael,” George replied, following him to the trolley to make them cups of strong coffee.
“I have a feeling, I will need plenty of these today,” he said, taking the offered porcelain cup.
George smiled grimly at him, before they made their way to the large desk stood in front of two tall windows.
Through the panes of glass, they could see the light of dawn, breaking through the dark clouds.
Within the next hour, his expected ‘guests’ arrived.
His secretary left him alone in his office, whilst he left to greet the arriving guests in the large, adjacent meeting room.
Michael stared across at one of the sideboards in front of one of the large walls, adorned with solid oak shelves filled with books.
On the sideboard stood a tray, holding various bottles of spirits.
He eyed the decanter of expensive brandy in the middle of the selection.
Maybe later.
He examined the paperwork set out in front of him.
After finishing perusing the reports, he placed them to one side of his desk, casting a glance at the clock on the wall, before standing to make his way to greet his guests.
Entering the meeting room, he made his way to his seat at the table.
“Good morning Prime Minister,” the man at the seat to his right said, as the collected group of people around the table momentarily stood up.
“Good morning John,” he replied, then turned to the others, “good morning all.”
As he nodded, they returned to their seats.
“Firstly, thank you all for attending here rather than at Whitehall. The reason being, I have a meeting with the Russian Premier here shortly, which I know you understand the importance of.”
Meeting such as these were usually held in one of the conference rooms, usually room A, at the Cabinet Office main building, located at Seventy Whitehall.
Though the abbreviation became no longer used within the Cabinet Office for these meetings, press and news agencies still used the name COBRA. The acronym meaning, Cabinet Office Briefing Room A.
He cleared his throat.
“Secondly, I gather by the telephone call I have received this morning that the situation in Liverpool has not been brought to a satisfact
ory conclusion?”
Commissioner Alsaadi glanced around the room, before opting to go straight to the point.
“Unfortunately, not Prime Minister,” he said, “the events there are now exceeding the capabilities of the combined forces of several of the local counties constabularies. All off-duty officers have been called in and annual leave has been cancelled until it can be brought under control.”
The Prime Minister nodded his head, before turning to Riley.
“You mentioned yesterday evening that you could have support drafted in today if required, did you not John?”
“Yes, I did Mr Prime Minister. We have infantry troops in Cheshire and Lancashire who were placed on standby yesterday.”
He cast a glance at Sameer before continuing.
“They are ready to be deployed upon your say so, and the majority can be there by late afternoon, early evening at the latest. We will need cooperation from the Highways Agency and possibly the network rail providers, if larger movements are required, but they are ready to go.”
“Larger movements?” Sebastian McLeod enquired, Secretary of State.
“Yes Secretary. The deployment of the aforementioned infantry units is requiring only a minimal amount of logistical support, but in the instance of heavy ordnance being required, then cooperation would be required from the agency mentioned in regards…”
“Why would heavy ordnance be required?” Sebastian interrupted.
“I have to ask the same question myself,” Alsaadi said incredulously, “we are talking about a few violent outbreaks here amongst members of the British public. It has been less than twenty-four hours since this whole thing began so why on earth would you be talking about bringing in heavy ordnance?”
Jaqueline Lewis, sat immediately across from him, stole a glance across the table at Riley.
Looking at her, he lightly nodded before answering the question.
“My apologies gentlemen. I was only pointing out the logistical requirements if extra support was required. I am sure the support from the units mentioned will be more than enough”
He looked again briefly at her and she gave him a slight nod of her own.