The Wilt Alternative (17 page)

Wilt took out a pen and began to write. Presently he closed the kitchen door and picked up the
phone.

Superintendent Misterson was enjoying a moment of quiet and comfortable relaxation on the
mahogany seat of Mrs de Frackas' toilet when the telephone rang in the drawing-room and the
sergeant came through to say that the terrorists were back on the line.

'Well, that's a good sign,' said the Superintendent, emerging hurriedly. 'They don't usually
start the dialogue quite so quickly. With any luck we'll get them to listen to reason.'

But his illusions on that score were quickly dispersed. The squawk that issued from the
amplifier was strange in the extreme. Even the Major's face, usually a blank mask of calculated
inanity, registered bewilderment. Made weirdly falsetto by fear and guttural by the need to sound
foreign, and preferably German, Wilt's voice alternately whimpered and snarled a series of
extraordinary demands.

'Zis is communiqué Number Vun of ze People's Alternative Army. Ve demand ze immediate release
of all comrades held illegally in British prisons vizout trial. You understand?'

'No,' said the Superintendent, 'I certainly don't.'

'Fascistic schweinfleisch,' shouted Wilt. 'Zecond, ve demand...'

'Now hold on,' said the Superintendent, 'we don't have any of your...er...comrades in prison.
We can't possibly meet your...'

'Lying pigdog,' yelled Wilt, 'Gunther Jong, Erica Grass, Friederich Boll, Heinrich Musil to
namen eine few. All in British prisons. You release wizin funf hours. Zecond, ve demand ze
immediate halting of all false reportings on television, transistor radios und der newspapers
financed by capitalistic-miltarische-liberalistic-pseudo-democratische-multi-nazionalistische und
finanzialistische conspirationialistische about our fightings here for freedom, ja. Dritte, ve
demand ze immediate withdrawal of alles militaristic truppen aus der garden unter linden und die
strasse Villington Road. Vierte, ve demand ze safe conduct for ze People's Alternative Army
cadres and ze exposing of ze deviationist and reformist class treachery of ze
CIA-Zionist-nihilistische murderers naming zemselves falsely People's Army Group Four who are
threatening ze lives of women and children in ze propaganda attempt to deceive ze proletarian
consciousness for ze true liberationist struggle for world freedom. End of communiqué.'

The line went dead.

'What the fuck was all that about?' asked the Major.

'I'm buggered if I know,' said the Superintendent with a glazed look in his eyes. 'Something's
definitely screwy. If my ears and that sod's ghastly accent didn't deceive me he seemed to think
Chinanda and the Schautz crowd are CIA agents working for Israel. Isn't that what he seemed to be
saying?'

'It's what he said, sir,' said the sergeant. 'People's Army Group Four are the Schautz brigade
and this bloke was blasting off at them. Could be we've got a splinter group in the People's
Alternative Army.'

'Could be we've got a raving nut,' said the Superintendent. 'Are you positive that little lot
came from the house?'

'Can't have come from anywhere else, sir. There's only one line in and we're hooked to
it.'

'Somebody's got their wires crossed if you ask me,' said the Major, 'unless the Schautz crowd
have come up with something new.'

'It's certainly new for a terrorist group to demand no TV or press coverage. That's one thing
I do know,' muttered the Superintendent. 'What I don't know is where the hell he got that list of
prisoners we're supposed to release. To the best of my knowledge we're not holding anyone called
Gunther Jong.'

'Might be worth checking that out, old boy. Some of these things are kept hush-hush.'

'If it's that top secret I can't see the Home Office blurting the fact out now. Anyway, let's
hear that gobbledygook again.'

But for once the sophisticated electronic equipment failed them.

'I can't think what's wrong with the recorder, sir,' said the sergeant, 'I could have sworn I
had it on.'

'Probably blew a fuse when that maniac came on the line,' said the Major, 'I know I damned
near did.'

'Well, see the bloody thing works next time,' snapped the Superintendent, 'I want to get a
voiceprint of this other bunch.' He poured himself another cup of coffee and sat waiting.

If there was confusion among the Anti-Terrorist Squad and the SGS following Wilt's
extraordinary intervention, there was chaos in the house. On the ground floor Chinanda and
Baggish had barricaded themselves into the kitchen and the front hall while the children and Mrs
de Frackas had been bundled down into the cellar. The telephone in the kitchen was on the floor
out of the line of fire and it had been Baggish who had picked it up and listened to the first
part. Alarmed by the look on Baggish's face, Chinanda had grabbed the receiver and had heard
himself described as an Israeli nihilistic murderer working for the CIA in a propaganda attempt
to deceive proletarian consciousness.

'It's a lie,' he shouted at Baggish who was still trying to square a demand by the People's
Alternative Army for the release of comrades held in British prisons with his previous belief
that the attic flat was occupied by men from the Anti-Terrorist Squad.

'How do you mean a lie?'

'What they say. That we are CIA Zionists.'

'A lie?' yelled Baggish, desperately searching for a more extreme word to describe such a
gross distortion of the truth. 'It's...Who said that?

'Someone saying he was the People's Alternative Army.'

'But the People's Alternative Army demanded the release of prisoners held illegally by the
British imperialists.'

'They did?'

'I heard them. First they say that and then they attack the false reporting on TV and then
they demand all troops to be withdrawn.'

'Then why call us CIA-Zionist murderers?' demanded Chinanda. 'And where are these people?'

They looked suspiciously at the ceiling.

'They're up there, you think?' asked Baggish.

But, like the Superintendent, Chinanda didn't know what to think.

'Gudrun is up there. When we came down there was shooting.'

'So maybe Gudrun is dead,' said Baggish. 'Is a trick to fool us.'

'Could be,' said Chinanda, 'British intelligence is clever. They know how to use
psycho-warfare.'

'So what we do now?'

'We make our own demands. We show them we are not fooled.'

'If I might just interrupt for a moment,' said Mrs de Frackas, emerging from the cellar, 'it's
time I gave the quadruplets their supper.'

The two terrorists looked at her lividly. It was bad enough having the house ringed with
troops and police, but when to add to their troubles they had to cope with incomprehensible
demands from someone representing the People's Alternative Army and at the same time were
confronted by Mrs de Frackas' imperturbable self-assurance, they felt the need to assert their
superior authority.

'Listen, old woman,' said Chinanda waving an automatic under her nose for emphasis, 'we give
the orders here and you do what we say. You don't we kill you.'

But Mrs de Frackas was not to be so easily deterred. Over a long lifetime in which she had
been bullied by governesses, shot at by Afghans, bombed out of two houses in two World Wars and
had had to face an exceedingly liverish husband across the breakfast table for several decades,
she had developed a truly remarkable resilience and, more usefully, a diplomatic deafness.

'I'm sure you will,' she said cheerfully, 'and now I'll see where Mrs Wilt keeps the eggs. I
always think that children can't have enough eggs, don't you? So good for the digestive system.'
And ignoring the automatic she bustled about the kitchen peering into cupboards. Chinanda and
Baggish conferred in undertones.

'I kill the old bitch now,' said Baggish. 'That way she learns we're not bluffing.'

'That way we don't get out of here. We keep her and the children we got a chance and we keep
up the propaganda war.'

'Without TV we got no propaganda war to keep up,' said Baggish. 'That was one of the demands
of People's Alternative Army. No TV, no radio, no newspapers.'

'So we demand the opposite, full publicity,' said Chinanda, and picked up the phone. Upstairs
Wilt who had been lying on the floor with the telephone to his ear answered it.

'Zis is People's Alternative Army. Communiqué Two. Ve demand...'

'No you don't. We do the demanding,' shouted Chinanda, 'Ve know British psycho-warfare.'

'Zionist pigs. Ve know CIA murderers,' countered Wilt. 'Ve are fighting for ze liberation of
all peoples.'

'We are fighting for the liberation of Palestine...'

'So are ve. All peoples ve fight for.'

'If you would kindly make up your minds who is fighting for what,' intervened the
Superintendent, 'we might be able to talk more reasonably.'

'Fascist police pig,' bellowed Wilt. 'Ve no discuss viz you. Ve know who ve are dealing
viz.'

'I wish to God I did,' said the Superintendent, only to be told by Chinanda that the People's
Army Group was 

'Revisionistic-deviationist lumpen schwein,' interjected Wilt. 'Ze revolutionary army of ze
people rejects fascistic holding of hostages und...' He was interrupted by bangs from the
bathroom which tended to contradict his argument and gave Chinanda the opportunity to state his
demands. They included five million pounds, a jumbo jet and the use of an armoured car to take
them to the airport. Wilt, having shut the kitchen door to drown out Gudrun Schautz's activities,
came back in time to up the ante.

'Six million pounds and two armoured cars...'

You can make it a round ten million for all I care,' said the Superintendent, 'it won't make
any difference. I'm not bargaining.'

'Seven million or we kill the hostages. You have till eight in the morning to agree or we die
with the hostages,' shouted Chinanda, and slammed down the phone before Wilt could make a further
bid. Wilt replaced his own receiver with a sigh and tried to think what on earth to do now. There
was no doubt in his mind that the terrorists downstairs would carry out their threat unless the
police gave way. And it was just as certain that the police had no intention of providing an
armoured car or a jet. They would simply play for time in the hope of breaking the terrorists'
morale. If they didn't succeed and the children died along with their captors it would hardly
matter to the authorities. Public policy dictated that terrorists' demands must never be met. In
the past Wilt had agreed. But now private policy dictated anything that would save his family. To
reinforce the need for some new plan, Fräulein Schautz sounded as though she was ripping up the
linoleum in the bathroom. For a moment Wilt considered threatening to fire through the doorway if
she didn't stop, but decided against it. It was no damned use. He was incapable of killing anyone
except by accident. There had to be some other way.

In the Communications Centre ideas were in short supply too. As the echo of the last
conflicting demands died away the Superintendent shook his head wearily.

'I said this was a bag of maggots and by God it is. Will someone kindly tell me what the hell
is going on in there?'

'No use looking at me, old boy,' said the Major, 'I'm simply here to hold the ring while you
Anti-Terrorist chappies establish rapport with the blighters. That's the drill.'

'It may be the drill but considering we seem to be dealing with two competing sets of
world-changers it's fucking near impossible. Isn't there some way we can get a separate line to
each group?'

'Don't see how, sir,' said the sergeant. 'The People's Alternative Army seem to be using the
extension phone from upstairs and the only way would be to get into the house.'

The Major studied Wilt's clumsy map. 'I could call a chopper up and land some of my lads on
the roof to take the bastards out.'

Superintendent Misterson looked at him suspiciously. 'By "take out" I don't suppose you mean
literally?'

'Literally? Oh, see what you mean. No. Doubt it. Bound to be a bit of schemozzle, what!'

'Which is precisely what we've got to avoid. Now, if someone can come up with a scheme whereby
I can talk to one group without being drowned out by the other I'd be grateful.'

But instead there was a buzz on the intercom. The sergeant listened and then spoke. 'The
psychos and the idiot brigade on the line, sir. Want to know if it's OK to move in.'

'I suppose so,' said the Superintendent.

'Idiot brigade?' said the Major.

'Ideological Warfare Analysis and the Psychological Advisers. Home Office insists we use them
and sometimes they come up with a sensible suggestion.'

'Christ,' said the Major. 'Damned if I know what the world is coming to. First they call the
army a peace-keeping force and now Scotland Yard has to have psychoanalysts to do their sleuthing
for them. Rum.'

'The People's Alternative Army are back on the line,' said the sergeant. Once more a barrage
of abuse issued from the telephone amplifier but this time Wilt had changed his tactics. His
guttural German had been doing things to his vocal cords and his new accent was a less demanding
but equally less convincing Irish brogue.

'Bejasus it will be nobody's fault but your own if we have to shoot the poor innocent creature
Irmgard Mueller herself before eight in the morning if the wee babies are not returned to their
mam, look you.'

'What?' said the Superintendent baffled by this new threat.

'I wouldn't want to be repeating meself for the likes of reactionary pigs like yourself but if
you're deaf I'll say it again.'

'Don't,' said the Superintendent firmly, 'We got the message first time.'

'Well I'll be hoping those Zionist spalpeens will have got the message too begorrah.'

A muffled flow of Spanish seemed to indicate that Chinanda had heard.

'Well then that'll be all. I wouldn't want to be running up too big a telephone bill now would
I?' And Wilt slammed the phone down. It was left to the Superintendent to interpret this
ultimatum to Chinanda as best he could, a difficult process made almost impossible by the
terrorist's insistence that the People's Alternative Army was a gang of fascist police pigs under
the Superintendent's command.