Catalyst (11 page)

The expression on Mags's face was similar to the one with which Andrew had received the same information, but about a thousand times more intense.

“I can't believe I'm hearing this,” she said. “Have you turned into a fucking monster?”

Tom was realistic enough to have anticipated a negative response, but was taken completely off guard by the ferocity of the attack.

“Look, obviously there are lots of details to be sorted out and I'm sure… ”

“It's nothing to do with details. It's
fundamentally
wrong. It goes against every human principle… ”

“Every Margaret Tomlinson-Brown principle, you mean. Can't you just for once see the bigger picture? Can't you just for once apply your human rights doctrine to the wider population rather than limit it to the ones that you and your tea-sipping cronies, sitting in your designer clothes on your expensive settees,
choose
to regard as the down-trodden and underprivileged.”

Mags's eyes were blazing as she struggled to remain calm.

“I see,” she said, softly, after a long silence. “
That's
what you think of my beliefs; of the hours and days I spend – whilst running a business as well – trying to ensure that the innocents of this world have something to live for. Thank you very much for making your feelings clear. I had no idea you thought I was such a waste of time.”

“The
innocents
! This has nothing to do with the
innocents
. They are the ones I'm trying to
protect
.”

Mags got up from her chair.

“Do you know what I think,” she said. “I think you wish it had been you on that street with that gun. Perhaps you should never have given it up; perhaps that's what you were put on this earth to do!”

He watched her leave the room, thinking she was probably right.

CHAPTER 5

The following morning – Wednesday – just after 7.30 am, during her first routine check of the day, Internal Investigative Assistant Vicky Barrowclough noticed that a name had appeared on her PC screen that should not have been there. She printed off the relevant information and placed it straight away in pole position on her boss's desk.

Tom entered the kitchen where he found Mags already dressed and seated at the large central island unit which was designed as an all-round breakfast bar. Tom sat down across from her.

“Morning,” he offered.

There was no reply to break the frosty silence.

“You must have been up early,” he ventured further.

She glared at him with fierce eyes but said nothing.

“Come on, Mags,” he said, with a little whine. “I think you're over-reacting to this. Look, I know there's still a lot… ”

“Over-reacting!” she spluttered. “Do you mean over-reacting to the biggest over-reaction in the history of civilisation as we know it?”

“Look, Mags. I know we are on a subject here where we have radically different views. Your opposition to just about everything I stand for is legend in the corridors of power at Westminster. You've never tried to keep it a secret from anyone. We always have had those differences, even before we were married, so there's nothing new here. But, for Heaven's sake, what was all that about last night? I shared my ideas with you because I genuinely respect your opinions. I like to get to a balanced perspective and you always pick up on the things I need to consider… ” He lost his thread as she continued to glower at him. “I wish to God I hadn't mentioned it.”

“Really?” said Mags. “Because I'm glad you did. It's always best to find out what sort of a person you're living with, even though it might turn out to be a major disappointment.”

“Right,” said Tom. “I have to meet with a lot of rational, fully-hinged people today, and this is no preparation for that sort of thing. So I'll leave you to wallow in your uncomplicated, self-righteous idealism. Mind you don't drown. See you tomorrow night.”

He walked from the room.

Tom's constituency headquarters was a single storey prefabricated building on Westbourne Avenue in Marlburgh, East London, just a short distance from the Cullen Field Estate. The premises comprised a reception area cum waiting room leading through to a large inner office accommodating ten workstations and a wall full of filing cabinets, with four smaller rooms off it down one side. The two end rooms of the four were the offices of Tom and Grace Goody. The middle two were set up as small meeting rooms with a folding partition separating them which could be pulled aside to provide a single larger one.

Grace entered Tom's office and sat down at his invitation on one of two leather wing chairs, positioned at ninety degrees to each other, close to and facing one of the windows. Tom was seated in the other chair and was annoyed that he was unable to stop himself looking as she crossed her beautiful legs, leaving enough of them visible to cause him to hesitate over his first few words.

“Er… you know when we visited Cullen Field Estate a few days ago?”

Grace was a stunning-looking woman. Tall and elegant, she almost invariably wore the uniform of her position, formal suits – usually with a skirt, rather than trousers – which were close fitting without being body-hugging, but clearly displayed her slim and rounded figure. Her rich brown hair was very simply pulled straight back from her face in a tight bun, sometimes a ponytail, and she wore rather heavy-rimmed glasses. She was thirty-nine years old – the same age as Mags.

“Yes, I can just about remember it,” she said, smiling. “Wasn't that the visit after which you decided to change the world by ridding it of everyone you didn't like?”

“That's the one,” said Tom, smiling back. “Though not exactly everyone,” he added. “Andrew's safe – for the moment.”

“And me?”

“Oh, you're way down the list; I might never get to you. Anyway, I've had some constructive feedback from my two bosses. Actually, more
de
structive from the one at home.”

“Don't tell me you're surprised,” said Grace. “It might not have been the best idea at this stage to share your ideas with her. Not while you're still in the process of formulating them, I mean.”

“You're right – again,” he said, in mock exasperation. “The thing with Mags, though, is that she does come up with objections that need addressing. She's really useful like that.”

“Well, I'm sure she'll be pleased that you think she's useful,” said Grace, still smiling.

“You know what I mean… ” He leant back, as if suddenly not sure of himself.

“Look, Grace, all the stuff we talked about after the visit – you know, trying to achieve for the people what this one guy pulled off in about ten minutes; new system of justice to give us extra powers, etcetera, etcetera – it
is
all a bit extreme, isn't it? You know, put together in the excitement of the moment and all that. Now we're sort of calm and detached, what do you
really
think?”

“There's no need to put that emphasis on ‘really' you know,” she said, genuinely affronted. “I'll only ever give you one opinion, and that will always be what I
really
think.”

“I know that, Grace. What I meant to ask is do you think this is a step too far?”

“No, I don't. The biggest question we can expect to have to answer will be ‘is it fair?' and we'll be able to stand up and shout ‘yes!' to that one. If we lay out the rules beforehand, and everyone understands them, and it's only going to affect the ones who choose to ignore them… Who can argue?”

“Thanks, Grace. That's what I hoped – and expected – you to say. Actually, I've decided I'm going to do another tour of the estate this afternoon and see if everybody is still ecstatic with life. I'll just take Gerry and Mick, and get going straight away – kiss a few babies, open a couple of supermarkets. Now, unless you particularly want to come – in which case, of course, you're very welcome – I was planning to go on my own, except for the men in black. I just want this to be low key and unexpected. You know, to get a spontaneous reaction.”

“I think that's a good idea,” said Grace. “And I'm sure I might find something to gainfully occupy me in the meantime.”

“Great, can we get together later, say, five o'clock?”

“Right.”

She uncrossed her legs and stood up. This time the movement went unobserved, but only because her boss had very deliberately looked away.

“Thanks again, Grace. See you later.”

Fred, having printed off his extra copies of the debate notice, had no trouble persuading the local library, the main supermarket, the college and the leisure centre to display them. He asked the person he met at each place if they would mind trying to get a feel as to how many were likely to go, suggesting they placed a form next to the notice for people to sign if they planned to attend.

At 11.30 am, Captain Peter Drake entered Riverside South, Tower 2 on Canary Wharf, where Germaine and Rolland's Investment Managers occupied the whole of the twenty-fifth floor. The Captain was slim, medium height and immaculately dressed in a light blue suit and blue and white striped shirt. His perfectly-knotted tie was a reminder of his days as a promising all-rounder at Surrey County Cricket Club. He was sandy-haired and clean-shaven except for a pencil-thin moustache. He took the security lift down to the lower basement. The first thing he noticed was a printed sheet on his desk which someone had leant up against his PC screen to make sure he didn't miss it. He read it quickly and stepped out into the main office.

“Vicky!”

Corporal Barrowclough had been waiting for the summons and rose from her desk to join him straight away. Vicky was almost as tall as the Captain in her two-inch heels; she was shapely – if not exactly slim – and attractive, with a round pleasant face and naturally-curly dark-brown hair which she wore long and loose onto her shoulders.

“Morning, sir.”

“Morning, Vicky. This looks exciting.”

“Could be, sir. I'd have waited until I had more, but it's Page One and it's linked to the recent Cullen Field incident which, as you know, is attracting a lot of attention. Thought I'd better raise it straight away.”