alt.UK
by Grandad SPIDER
Copyright 2011 Grandad SPIDER
Smashwords Edition
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Chapter 1
prologue
I press down the thumb latch, open the old oak door and enter the flag-stoned kitchen. I turn on the brass tap over the butler sink, fill the sage green enamelled kettle and place it on the Rayburn, grind a handful of Brazilian Arabica, brush it into the cafetière, then stare absently out the cottage window at the blue tits on the bird feeder, while I wait for Ruth to come back from the farm with the cream. The summer afternoon sun is catching the gently twirling crystal suspended from the thatch eves, sprinkling twinkling patterns onto the kitchen wall. A squirrel darts out from the woods, across the lawn, up the fence, along its top, leaps onto the shed roof scattering the birds, jumps onto the feeder and hangs upside down trying to prise out a peanut. As it swings there I catch a flash of blue and yellow, a car, no two cars, the second one plain grey, coming up the track as fast as the potholes allow. Police cars, I’m sure.
I panic. I can hear the cars kicking up the gravel at the front of the cottage. After a moment’s hesitation I whip open the back door, sprint across the grass and hurl myself into the undergrowth at the edge of the woods. I lie there terrified, trying to quieten my panting breath and quivering body. Car doors slam, instructions barked out,
‘You two round the back’. Heavy boots crunching across the drive. Two burly policemen, in the new style uniforms with holsters, come round the corner, stomp through the flower bed and make for the back door. A surreal moment of silence. I seethe with sudden hatred and anger, wanting to remonstrate with them about the thoughtlessly crushed flowers which Ruth and I had so carefully planted. The sound of splintering wood as the front door is smashed in. ‘It wasn’t locked!’ I rage silently. I hear the crashing of things breaking and the shattering of glass. My fear and fury intensify. A plain clothed man comes out the backdoor.
‘Door was open when we got here guv,’ one of the uniforms tells him.
The guv stares thoughtfully into the miles of woodland that stretch away from the end of the garden before replying. ‘Kettle’s boiling. She must have seen us coming and ‘ad it away on ‘er toes’.
We all hear it at once, the sound of another car coming slowly down the track. Oh Christ, Ruth! They go round to the front of the cottage to greet her. She won’t see their cars until she gets right up to the building so she’ll have no chance of escape. She tries though. The grinding of gears, revving of an engine, the heavy smashing of a car window, the engine dies.
‘You bastards!’ Ruth’s voice. Every part of me wanted to run round the corner, eliminate them all and rescue my lover, but I just lie there, impotently terrified.
‘Get out the car now!’ I hear the familiar squeak of Ruth’s car door opening. ‘Who was in the house?’ a voice shouts.
‘No-one!’ Ruth yells back. The sound of flesh striking flesh. ‘Go to hell!’ she screams at them. The muffled noise of a struggle and crackle of a stun gun.
‘Stick her in my motor and call out the search team. Tell ‘em they’ll need the dogs. You two come with me, and you stay here until the search team arrives. Keep your eyes peeled!’ I recognise the voice of the plain clothed man who is in charge, the guv. I hear a scuffling and scrabbling then car doors being slammed and an engine starting up. I catch a glimpse of Ruth slumped between two hefty officers as the unmarked car goes back up the track.
An ice-cold calm comes over me. I know I have to act fast. It can’t take that long for the search party to get here. With their dogs I’ll be caught in no time. My bike is in the shed, maybe if I can get to that. But I’ll never be able to get it out without the remaining copper catching me or at least radioing in. I need a head start. I realise I have to do something about that copper. ‘This is it, the moment of truth. No going back now.’
I look around for a suitable weapon. I slowly reach out my hand and pick up a fist sized rock. He seems to be staying round the front of the house. Eyes peeled for any movement I slither through the leaves to get behind a tree, then ease myself upright. Still no sign of him. I tip-toe carefully through the edge of the woods. My target is the backdoor of the garage which is hidden from the front of the house. Thank God for the gravel drive, as I hear him approaching. I freeze against the smooth bark of a beech tree. I can feel his eyes scanning the woods. I don’t breathe for minutes. Then I hear the gravel again and risk peering round the tree. Gone. I scoot across the lawn to the garage backdoor and oh so gently open it and slip inside. I upgrade my rock to a crowbar. I put the keys in the bike and turn on the petrol. I peer through the corner of the cobweb encrusted window. Still no sign of him. I wait and sure enough he’s a creature of habit, coming round the back of the house again a minute later, stopping to scan the woods, then carrying on his patrol. As he carries on round to the front I slip out the door and make a crouching run to the rear corner where I expect him to arrive in a few seconds. I stand there, my hands sweaty on the hard steel, praying he won’t change his routine. Time stretches interminably. I’m trembling, my whole body shaking. Then I hear him. Crunch, crunch. Absolute still. I lift up the crowbar and hold it above my head. Suddenly he’s there, inches away, I can smell him. I aim for his head and bring my weapon down as hard as all my love for Ruth.
There is a different sort of crunching sound and he collapses. He twitches spasmodically, then is still. I stand transfixed with horror at what I’ve done, the crowbar slipping from my hand. The sound of it clattering onto the patio brings me round. I run for the garage, throw open the doors and jump on my enduro, kicking it into life, the cackle of the two stroke engine destroying the silence. I know the roads will be a waste of time as they’ll get me on the airship surveillance in no time, so I head for the trees where at least I’ll have some cover.
I hurtle at insane speeds through the woods, branches whipping at my face, arms and thighs, but feeling nothing. I make crazy jumps, slither down ravines, pushing on faster and faster to get as far from the cottage as possible. At one point I catch a glimpse through the canopy of a helicopter in the distance and turn away from it. I realise I don’t have much time. The heat imaging cameras give them the edge.
A plan begins to form in my head. I know roughly where I am. It can’t be far from here. In a few minutes I spot it. There! The cycleway. I kill the engine. Time to get rid of the bike. I push it into a ditch and pile branches and ferns over it. I move cautiously towards the cycleway. I can hear chainsaws in the distance. A couple cycle by, chatting away, oblivious of me. No one else around. I step out onto the track. I can see a way marker in the distance and sprint towards it. Good, only half a mile to the next waystation.
I jog through the woods parallel to the path, hiding from the occasional passing bicycles. The log cabin comes into view. The chatty couple are just leaving and there are no other bikes in front. I circle cautiously round to the back carefully keeping out of range of the cctv. There’s only a single ranger’s bike parked there, a good sign as there is always one spare. Now’s as good a time as any. I walk up to the rear door and let myself in with my pass key.
The staffroom is deserted. A ranger uniform is hanging on the wall. I quickly change into it. I check the firearm safe, just on the off chance a weapon had been left; against regulations but it sometimes happened. No luck there. I grab a battery pack from the charger. I go outside and put my clothes in the cycle panniers and slot the battery pack into place. As I bend down to unlock the bike I hear voices, more cyclists coming. I quickly duck back into the staffroom. Damn, they’re stopping. I hear them come into the day room and the sound of cans being opened. I consider sneaking out while they’re there, but decide it’s safer to take no chance of anybody seeing me. The PA bing-bongs into life.
‘This is a national cycleway citizen safety announcement.’ Bing-Bong. ‘A dangerous terrorist is believed to be at large in this area riding a red and yellow off-road motorcycle. If you see or hear a motorcycle you should call the citizen safety service immediately.’ Bing-Bong. The message is repeated.
‘I’m sure I heard a bike as we were coming down that last straight,’ I hear one of them say.
‘No, don’t think so. That was chainsaws. Remember we saw those community-carers tree felling back at that last big hill.’
‘Oh yeah, that must have been it.’
I breathe a sigh of relief. They leave shortly afterwards and after giving them a few minutes start, I head off, hood up, in the other direction. I cycle along, using the auxiliary electric motor to power me quickly passed anyone I catch up with. I just give them a quick salute as a whoosh by.
The sun is still shining and warming my back, the birds are singing their hearts out, the scent of the summer flowers hangs heavily in the air, the tyres softly murmuring then rustling through the leaves. It’s a beautiful day and I feel a sense of complete unreality. I have so many good memories of cycling on lovely sunny days like this, my dream come true, yet now I’m a hunted, murdering terrorist. This isn’t happening.
~ 5 years earlier ~
Power to the people. Power to the people. Right on.
(John Lennon)
It was my wife Sue’s idea to have the dinner party.
‘You need to celebrate your new job,’ she said.
I’d have soon not bothered but heigh-ho it’s not a good idea to get in the way of a socially aspiring woman, especially if you’re married to her.
‘Now who shall we invite?’ I was quite certain the question was rhetorical. I knew she’d already decided the guest list, worked out the seating plan and probably decided on the menu too.
‘Craig must come,’ I said.
‘Oh God, must he? He’s such a fanatical, geeky oik,’ she vehemently asserted.
‘Look,’ I replied, equally strident, ‘I’ve known him since school, worked with him for ten years and anyway if it wasn’t for him I wouldn’t have got the job.’
Craig and I had spent most weekends together for the last ten years, working on canal restorations. Knee-deep mired in sludge, digging out long disused locks, creates a bond. And yes he was a little extreme in his views but his heart was in the right place. He’d worked at the alternative technology centre for a while. His ‘Power to the People’ logo hadn’t gone down too well before a visit by the Prince, as he then was, and he’d been quietly side-lined. He was a genius on the computer though, and as for being an oik, well Sue tried very hard to obscure her own council house origins, whereas Craig wore his as a badge of honour.
‘Oh come on, with your reputation you’d have been high on their wish list,’ said Sue.
‘Maybe, but having an insider pushing for you always helps.’
She sighed deeply, ‘Well I suppose so.’ I could see her mentally rearranging the seating plan to segregate Craig to where he’d do least damage. I smiled to myself.
The rest of the list was fairly predictable: James Finlay, Head of EcoMove, my new boss, and his wife Andrea; Peter Fairfax, who’d been my deputy at Matheson’s - Business and Management consultants, and would probably not get my old job as its head, as he was regarded as a bit of lightweight who hadn’t published anything for years, and his wife Julie; Martin Wardman our good friend and bachelor neighbour; to which had now been added Craig Whaller, team leader for EcoMove who’d probably bring his partner Justin, if they hadn’t just had another one of their arguments. With those two the dispute would be Marx v. Mao, not who’s turn it was to empty the dishwasher. There was only one surprise.
‘I’m inviting my classroom assistant, Ruth Smith, to keep the numbers even,’ Sue added.
‘You’re trying to match make for Martin again aren’t you. I do wish you wouldn’t keep embarrassing the poor bloke. It’s so obvious.’
‘He loves it, and anyway where else is he going to meet anyone. He never goes out!’ she insisted.
‘If you must, but you know he’ll just end up talking computers with Craig all evening. Does she have a an intense fascination with all things digital?’
‘I doubt it, more of a greeny I think.’
‘Mmm, can’t see Martin taking much interest.
~
The dinner party duly took place a fortnight later. Justin didn’t come. ‘Had to visit an aunt,’ Craig told Sue, but I gathered later it was more to do with whether the Greenham Common peace camp had been instrumental in ending the cold war. I couldn’t quite make out whether Craig was a yea or a nay, as I could see him arguing either side. He probably just chose a contrary position to Justin out of his usual cussedness. Anyway that turned out for the best because it meant Martin and he could talk computers all night without interruption. Ruth did turn out to be a greeny and was slightly awestruck being at a table with the two top people of EcoMove. Peter was his usual affable self, charming the ladies and boring the men. Sue and Julie were very close and had known each other a long time, but now had to suss out Andrea to see where she fitted into their hierarchical view of society. She didn’t fit very well and turned out to have more in common with Ruth, which amused me no end.
‘So David, are they throwing you in the deep end?’ asked Peter.
‘Quite busy,’ I replied.
‘I should say so,’ interjected James, ‘Massively important presentation to government movers and shakers coming up. David will be the main speaker.’
‘Oh that sounds interesting,’ said Peter. ‘What’s it’s about?’
‘The usual,’ James replied for me, ‘ Trying to get them to open their chequebooks.’
I laughed. ‘It’s an opportunity to put some of my ideas to them. I think it’s just good form on their part, give the new boy a chance to say his piece. They’ve got to be seen to be pro environmental issues these days, so I’m sure it’ll end up as someone’s newsbyte somewhere.’
‘The minister for the environment and countryside will be there,’ said Sue, looking round the table to make sure everyone was duly impressed.
‘You seem a little cynical about our new national unity government David,’ commented Andrea, not so subtly ignoring Sue.
‘No more so than when it was party politics. I don’t think politicians change their spots that easily,’ I replied.
‘Oh come now,’ said Peter, ‘This is a giant step forward and was absolutely necessary. After a double dip recession and going down for the third time, it was quite clear that the inter-party bickering had to stop. The country was on the rocks. Lost our triple A credit rating, taxes going through the roof, unemployment rising, riots on the streets. Something had to be done. I’m impressed that they found the courage to do it.’
‘Do you think it was courage, or just saving their own skins?’ asked Ruth, emboldened by several glasses of wine. ‘After all the polls were saying that the next election was likely to wipe out the traditional parties and see the Greens in as the largest party.’
‘That would never have worked,’ said Sue. ‘What do that rabble of tree-huggers know about running the country?’ she contemptuously dismissed the idea. Ruth looked offended and hurt.
‘And they’d have had a coalition with those dreadful socialists worker thugs,’ added Julie, ‘Oh no, this is a much better arrangement and you can see it’s working already. No more strikes, bobbies on the beat, planes running on time; much much better.’ Sue nodded in agreement.
‘What do you think James?’ asked a bright-eyed Ruth, casting round for an ally.
‘Oh I keep out of politics,’ he smiled, ‘ A necessary evil. As long as someone takes away the recycling and recognises the importance of our work, I’m happy.’
‘Oh,’ muttered Ruth, looking crestfallen. One of her heroes had just fallen shy of the mark.
‘Doesn’t matter who’s running the show. They’re all just there to line their own pockets,’ threw in Craig, pausing for a moment in his discussion with Martin about hi-tec ways to enforce road pricing.
‘Spoken like a true cynic,’ I laughed.
‘ A realist,’ was Craig’s riposte.
~
That night was one of the rare ones when Sue and I had sex. Ever since our daughter had been born she’d lost interest. Post puerperal depression the doctor had called it, but it had been going on five years now.
Gemima! God how we’d argued about that name. Sue had won but I retaliated by calling her Gemma all the time, much to Sue’s annoyance.
The sex wasn’t very good. I felt that Sue was just fulfilling her wifely duty without any real enthusiasm. ‘Lie back and think of England,’ came to mind.
~
The presentation was to take place at the HQ of the Department of the Environment and Countryside. I’d been working on it solid for weeks, day and night. Craig had produced a wonderful set of animated graphics. I was very proud of it. James was cautious but was going with it.
‘You’re pushing way to the edge of the envelope on this one you know,’ he warned. We’d been over this several times already. He was happier pushing core activities, winning little victories. I was going for the whole vision thing. He thought I’d probably achieve nothing and was wasting an opportunity to try and get funding for our latest cross country path, but I guessed I was being indulged as the newcomer.
We were all set up. The EcoMove branding looked slick, Craig had tested all the equipment, the auditorium had filled up with smartly suited people, the cameras were rolling. James was making the introduction…
‘…so I’d like you to welcome our main speaker, who needs no introduction as I’m sure you’re all familiar with his work on urban regeneration, EcoMove’s new principal director, David Morgan.’ Polite applause and I took the stand.
I gave a brief history of EcoMove’s work towards building a series of short and long distance cycle paths, bigging up James and the work he’d done from very small beginnings. I then spoke a little about my own work on urban regeneration and the successes there, and then described the problems facing the countryside as farm incomes decreased and rural unemployment grew. I noticed a few nervous twitches from the politicians, they don’t like discussing the negatives.