Rant (14 page)

Van G: I would have to say that he's doing a pretty good impersonation so far.

(
Cheeky bugger,
I thought.)

Sam: Mr Rant is not nearly as stupid as he may appear. At the moment he's disoriented and under a lot of emotional stress. After today – well, that may well no longer be the case.

Joshua:
and-then?

Sam: Then we have a problem.

Van G: And dealing with that problem?

Sam: Is my responsibility.

Joshua:
beedly-beedly-bee.

I retreated down the corridor and made a lot of noise with the bathroom door. Everything went quiet as I entered the kitchen and snatched my shirt off the back of the chair and once again headed for the bathroom to finish getting dressed. Even the Romanian looked a bit sheepish.

What were they up to?

It was fairly obvious that there was more to this whole business than was meeting the eye, but I had thought that we were sharing up until now.

I sat down on the toilet to think.

That didn't work so I just sat.

From outside, there was a sound of a large vehicle pulling up and crunching on the dirt drive. Then there was the sound of a door opening, and then the sound of several voices singing a charming version of ‘Puff the Magic Dragon'.

Miserable as I was, my interest was piqued. I lifted the curtain and peeked outside.

Oh my god,
I thought.
Please no. Pretty please, with sprinkles on, I'll be good for the rest of my life and I will never, ever complain when Anna puts her cold feet on me, nor will I put foreign coins in collection boxes when I visit country churches. Just don't let this be happening to me.

Crunching up the gravel path came Mr Agent Smith. Behind him, on a Sunshine Variety minibus half filled with disabled children, sat a shamefaced Ms Agent Smith.

Our transport to London had arrived.

Thursday May 6
th
. 12pm.

We sang ‘We're All Going On a Summer Holiday'.

Again.

I had lost count of how many times this was. Certainly more than we had sung ‘Puff the Magic Dragon', but less than we had sung ‘Gilly-gilly-ossenphepher-katzenellen-bogen-by-the-see-ee-ee-ee-ea'.

The three carers were understandably furious with us, and concerned about their charges.

‘They don't like change,' said Sophie, ‘they just feel more secure in their normal routine. They can get very distressed if something happens to disrupt that.' I looked at the children. I knew how they felt.

‘They are quite safe though,' I said. ‘Nobody is going to put them in harm's way.' She harrumphed like she didn't believe a word I just said. I wished
I
could believe a word I just said.

I'd chosen to sit next to Sophie on the coach. I didn't much feel like sitting with my gang. They were sneaking around behind my back, talking about me and making plans to do things without me. I they weren't careful I would tell on them. Sophie was in her late forties and had that kind of “I'm gentle and I'll look after you but if you mess with the people I care about I'll tear your head off and pee down the hole in your neck” thing going on.

Arnold, a wheelchair user, spent a great deal of the journey comparing makes and models with Joshua. All of the kids (and the driver and even the other two carers) were instantly enamoured with Joshua and his voice box and decided it was quite the coolest thing they'd ever seen or heard.

Our Romanian friend was chatting away happily to a girl called Evie who did not speak at all on the back seat. I can't imagine she spoke a word of Romanian but she clapped her hands and laughed at everything he said and he looked happier than he had since we kidnapped him, drugged him and tied him up.

Van G looked more than a little disgruntled at the two smaller children, Eric and Gordon, who kept pulling at the hairs that sprouted from his various orifices.

Sam sat alone and silent on the seat behind me, occasionally tapping something into his laptop.

Mr Agent Smith was fiddling with something in a suitcase in the footwell next to the rear doors, and Ms Agent Smith was at the front, talking the driver through where we needed to go once we arrived in London.

Beth – a young girl with Downs' Syndrome – sat on the opposite side of the aisle from me. She kept looking across and smiling at me. I smiled back.

‘You look sad,' she told me.

‘I feel sad,' I said.

‘Why?' she asked.

‘Well, my wife has been taken away by some bad men, and I'm trying to find her before they hurt her.'

She thought for a moment. ‘A bit like
Die Hard
?'

‘Yes,' I said. ‘A bit like
Die Hard
.'

‘And you're Bruce Willis?'

‘More like Bruce Forsyth,' said Sophie.

I found it hard to argue.

‘Fuck! Shit! ARSE! Fuck! Shit!' came a voice from the back of the bus.
Right,
I thought,
that's it.
I stood up and rounded on the others.

‘Okay, who was that?' I shouted. ‘I don't know where you lot think you are but kindly show a little respect and stop swearing in front of these children. You're not at home now.'

Everyone just stared at me.

‘Erm…' said Sophie, ‘I think you'll find that was Davie. He has Tourette's Syndrome. He does it when he's put into stressful situations. I did try to warn you.'

‘Oh,' I mumbled. ‘Well. Carry on, everyone.' And I sat back down.

To Sophie I said, ‘I used to do street theatre with a man who had Tourette's. He was a knife juggler. Problem was he wasn't all that good so he used to get nervous before his act. Then he'd stand there in the street, throwing knives and axes about and dropping them and saying, “fuck, shit, bollocks” and occasionally just making weird noises.'

‘That must have been a sight to see.'

‘It certainly drew in the crowds. Look, I'm really sorry about all of this. It was a stupid idea.'

‘Actually,' she said, ‘It's quite a clever idea. Nobody is going to stop us, are they? I just wish it had been someone else's minibus you stole. Was that true about your wife?'

‘Yes, but please don't be nice to me or I'll start screaming and crying and shooting my gun into the air.'

‘Like Keanu Reeves in
Point Break
?' said Beth.

I smiled and nodded.

‘Beth is a bit of an action film buff,' said Sophie. ‘In case you hadn't noticed.'

‘What's your favourite?' I asked. Thirteen minutes later Beth ran out of favourites and was moving onto her second favourites when we went over a bump in the road and—

‘Fuck! Shit ARSE! Shit! Fuck!' came from the back of the bus.

I smiled indulgently at Sophie, who stood up and glared into the back of the bus. ‘Right, who was that?' she shouted. ‘I don't know where you lot think you are but kindly show a little respect and stop swearing in front of these children. You're not at home now.'

I looked around and Mr Agent Sebastian Smith (I'm tempted to call him Mr ASS for short, but that would be churlish) looked up and said, ‘Sorry, ma'am, but I have a slight problem here. Agent Smith, could you come here a moment please?'

Ms Agent Smith stood and went to the back of the bus. As
I watched she tensed and looked around frantically. She whispered something to Mr Agent Smith and then came back along the bus to me.

‘Mr Rant,' she said, carefully and quietly. ‘I need you to go and assist Agent Smith in the back of the bus. Now.'

‘What's going on?' I asked.

‘Don't ask questions, sir, just—'

‘Oh, I see. You're going to start ordering me about now are you? Well, Ms Agent Smith, you can tell Mr Agent Smith to kiss my bottom if he needs help, because I am fed up to the back teeth with you lot and your—'

‘Mr Rant!' she hissed. Then she started whispering very, very quickly indeed. ‘Agent Smith is currently engaged in assembling an explosive device with which to distract the enemy when we are on site in approximately,' she checked her watch, ‘thirty-seven minutes. The last bump we went over armed the device and the only thing currently keeping your kissable bottom attached to your pig-headed body is Agent Smith's finger jammed into the firing mechanism.
I
am going to go and relieve the driver right now because the minibus will have to be kept completely straight and bump-free without slowing down or speeding up, otherwise the secondary motion detectors will kick in and trip the bomb. That leaves
you
as the only one fit enough and thin enough to fit into the gap so in the absence of anyone better I am asking you
will you please go to the back of the bus and assist Agent Smith?
'

‘Why didn't you just say?' I asked huffily, getting up and heading towards Agent Smith. Mr Agent Smith. Our Romanian friend was still jabbering away happily, but everyone else was watching me.

‘Just like Keanu Reeves in
Speed
,' said Beth, wistfully.

‘More like Vic Reeves on speed,' muttered Ms Agent Smith. I was beginning to resent all of these unflattering comparisons.

At least she thought my bottom was kissable.

I squatted down next to Mr Agent Smith. He looked a bit hot and sweaty. The suitcase he was next to was very large and very full of things that looked like you wouldn't want to be too near them if they went off. I fought the urge to jump out of the nearest window.

‘How's things?' I asked, unsure how else to start.

‘Not so good, sir.'

‘How can I help?'

‘I need to dismantle the motion sensor bit of the bomb.'

‘Tell me what to do and I'll do it.'

‘That's the problem. I don't actually know, sir.'

I looked at him like you'd look at the man in the television casting offices who tells you that you haven't got the part but he doesn't know why as that is not part of his remit but if you leave your details he'll happily get someone to contact the relevant parties and get back to you, hopefully in the next six months.

Mr Agent Smith looked very frightened indeed.

‘It's not my fault. A lot of these parts come ready assembled when we buy them. We just stick them together and hope for the best.'

‘Hope for the—‘ I struggled to control myself and my bladder. Deep breaths, Mike. ‘What are we going to do?'

‘Well, if you'll just look in my rucksack there, sir, you'll find the instruction manuals for the various components. You want the one that says
Simple User Operating Instructions for Motion Detector Component for use in IEDs
.'

‘What's an IED?'

‘Improvised Explosive Device, sir.'

‘Sort of
Bombs for Dummies
, then?'

‘Sort of.'

I rummaged in the bag. It took a little while as there were about twenty books and pamphlets in there. Eventually I found the one I was looking forward and quickly opened it.

‘It's in Chinese,' I said.

‘Near the back,' he told me. ‘The English bit is near the back.'

He was looking really quite pasty now. That firing pin must be really pinching.

I started reading. Five minutes later I was at the bottom of the first page.

‘What does it say?' he asked me.

‘Made in Slovakia,' I told him.

‘Anything. Else. Sir?'

‘Not that I understood.'

‘See if you can find the diagram, we need to figure out which wires to cut.'

I did and we were neither of us any the wiser. The diagram was like a map of the London Underground that someone had scribbled on with crayons.

‘Can't we just open up the back doors and throw it out?' I asked.

‘My finger is trapped in the firing mechanism, sir.'

‘Can't we just open up the back doors and throw you out?'

‘Again, sir, the motion detectors would kick in and it would explode either on the bus or in the road behind the bus.'

I peeked out the back window. The motorway was chock full of traffic. I would be lying if I said I wasn't still tempted, though.

‘Sir, we are running out of time here. We're going to hit the London traffic soon and Agent Smith will have to use the brakes. What happens then is anybody's guess.'

I looked at the diagram again. It hadn't gotten any clearer in the last few minutes. I couldn't even see which bits related to the case in front of me.

‘Where's the motion sensor?' I asked.

He pointed to a flat black box.

‘Can I open it?'

He handed me a small screwdriver and I set to work taking the lid off.

‘Careful,' he said.

‘Careful is my middle name,' I told him, and then dropped the lid into what looked a pile of plastic explosives. There was a moment when neither of us could remember how to breath. And then something started ticking.

I looked up at Mr Agent Smith. The ticking was his teeth.

‘Oops,' I said. ‘Butterfingers.'

Inside the box was a mass of wires and at the centre what looked like a glass phial full of silver liquid. I pointed at it and looked questioningly at Mr Agent Smith.

‘Mercury,' he told me. ‘If it moves too far up the tube on either side it will trip the switches and the whole thing will blow.'

‘I thought your finger was in the firing mechanism,' I said.

‘This is the primary firing system, sir. There's another one underneath, sir, you'll just have to trust me on this, sir.'

That last “sir” was definitely a little on the tetchy side.

Suddenly the bus began to tilt to the left.

‘I'm going to have to turn onto the M25,' shouted Ms Agent Smith. ‘We're going to run out of clear road here. Hang on back there!'

I watched in horror as the mercury began to creep up the side of the tube.

‘Quick,' said Mr Agent Smith, ‘Gently lift your edge.'

I did so and the mercury began to slop the other way. I lowered it. Raised it, lowered it. That ticking had started up again.

Ms Agent Smith made it on and off the exit ramp without slowing down. From all around us came the sound of honking and screeching tyres. I gently tilted my fingers back and forth and sweated, gibbering all the way.

After what seemed like an eternity but was probably in reality about thirty seconds, the bus straightened and the mercury settled. But that ticking was really annoying. I looked up at Mr Agent Smith.

‘Can you please control your—?'

But it wasn't him. This time it was definitely coming from the suitcase.

‘Oh, dear,' I said.

‘Indeed, sir. The bomb seems to have detected some movement but not enough to immediately detonate it. The computer inside it will be checking the components one after the other and when it gets to the primary firing pin and finds it jammed it will probably explode. Sir.'

‘Probably?'

‘I've never made one of these before, sir.'

‘How long do we have?'

‘Probably less than a minute now.'

‘What can I do? Can I pee on it or something?' I was sure I'd seen something like this in a film and I could certainly do with losing some pee.

‘You need to cut some wires.'

‘Which ones? I don't have a clue what goes to what!'

‘We don't have a choice, it's going to explode anyway.'

I picked up a pair of wire-cutters from the floor and bent over to the box. Blue or red? Blue or red? Or orange? Or yellow? Or any of the other hundreds of colours that seemed to be there.

I closed my eyes and put the cutters around the first wire I came across. I was just about to squeeze when a hand gently took them from me, and as I opened my eyes it reached into the suitcase and snipped a yellow wire, a black one and a sort of taupe one that looked like the colour Anna had fancied when we redecorated the bathroom. We went for apricot in the end, which looked more or less the same but was a bit warmer. Allegedly.