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Act 3 Chapter 31
Dinner at The Grand
–‘You’re a spy, man. Admit it.’-
Peter Kennedy was worried and walking fast, head down, through the back streets to avoid the marchers, strikers and rioters, who thronged the city center
-‘I’ve lived to see Revolution Day!’- he thought.
Glancing back furtively at the Special Police, two on foot and two in a car, who were watching his every move from an obvious distance..
Before it had been easy, now it was dead risky, and he had urgent information to send. There would be a new attack on the docks by the Commandos that night. Twice he had almost been caught using the little cellphone.
It was ludicrous. After the mass defection of a whole army and five hundred police due partly to his tip-off, they hadn’t even searched him properly!
-‘Smash the State. Don’t be late.
Celebrate. Smash the State’-
A crowd of yunkers had appeared at the crossing, running and throwing poses. There was no traffic.
They were waving placards with big photocopies of Maggie Bellows, the activist killed that morning, with her baby girl grinning cutely.
Peter walked on, muttering the details of the message he must give. Boys and girls in Clan Orca and Warrior garb came running past, some with air-guns drawn. It was the first time he’d seen civilians openly carrying guns, never mind school age kids!
-‘Oh shit oh bloody shite!’- he cursed.
Peter Kennedy knew he had been set up, the Cabinet Meeting had served only to announce a false plan, complete with curfews, martial law, commandos from helicopters!..
Bullshit! They couldn’t organize a piss-up in a brewery!
General Mulcatty had almost admitted it. –‘We’ll outmaneuver them this time.’- He’d said at one point, rubbing his hands in childish glee, Peter’s mind whirled in circles, then he saw an intact phone box!
In a second he was in it, depositing a coin successfully and tapping fast. The Specials reacted slowly, of course. It was working! The phone rang once.
-‘Hello Maeve?’-
He was prising out his penknife with his teeth.
-‘Hello.’-
-‘They say they’ll attack by the North Gate at midnight. The Commandos from Martins barracks, securing the barricade from helicopters and launches. But it’s false I think it’s…’-
The line went dead.
Probably because he was sawing the receiver cable with the sharp knife.
A few seconds later, too late, the police swung open the cabin door.
The cop whacked Peter’s face with his studded glove, grabbed the dead receiver, and hauled him out of the box. Then the second and third were twisting his arms back.
Banged his head on the door.
-‘Okay who did you ring?’-
-‘I I was trying to ring my wife to say I won’t be home.’-
-‘What’s the number then?’-
-‘None of your business.’-
His head crashed against the door again. The first cop was tapping, and shaking the phone.
-‘Everything’s our business. You’re a spy man. Admit it.’-
A fist dug in his belly, but they had been spotted by a tattooed Clanner across the street.
-‘They’re police. They’re police. Leave him alone pig bastards!’–
The Specials were unholstering their guns.
The young fella backed off, shouting and pointing.
-‘Police. There’s Specials over here! Let’s get the murderers!’-
-‘The number is 8279433.’- said Peter helpfully. -‘But the phone is broken.’-
-‘I saw him talking into it.’-
-‘I was singing.’-
-‘Well it’s broken now.’-
-‘Either he’s telling the truth, or he’s a smart fucking fly-boy.’- said the sergeant. -‘Let’s go together by car. This following is ridiculous.’-
-‘And I’m getting the feeling the cop shooting season is just about to open.’- said the other one, nervously.
Peter protested feebly, but he’d done well. In fact his heart was soaring with victory.
He was driven to join General Mulcatty for lunch, jammed between two overfed policemen.
-‘I got a phone call from your lot last night.’- one of them came out with. -‘Offered me a job down home on the shellfish farms.’-
-‘They’re not my lot.’- says Peter. -‘But will you think of taking it? You can do Free-Uni from there now, it counts as work on the Credit Deal..’-
-‘Really? I didn’t know that.’-
-‘Sure we’re only stuck up here because there was no work down home.’- said the other.
-‘Here’s the hotel now, we’ll slip you in the back. Listen, er, we don’t agree with killing that woman.’-
***
General Mulcatty clambered out of the armour plated Mercedes, slipped through the police line, and stepped almost jauntily into the glittering lobby of the Hotel Magestique.
Freed at last from the endless bureaucracy and political charades that were his life, he had issued a stream of clear and precise orders, following the details of Bruton’s plan.
Meeting Peter in the lobby he took him by the arm, as they were ushered to a reserved area upstairs.
He was very fond of Peter, his calm good humour, his brown skin, he had caught himself sometimes, muttering veiled endearments.
Yet this time he had withheld the details of Bruton’s plan, grinning at his disconcerted looks, when the military preparations obviously did not fit the proposed operation.
Peter followed Mulcatty and the Special Police, who took a table beside them, outwardly his attentive smiling self, but inwardly fighting down waves of panic and fear.
He knew now they had let him make that phone call. He must at all costs find out from Mulcatty the true plan, but he feared that then he would be too terrified to act.
-‘This is a great treat Sir, thanks awfully.’-
-‘We deserve it boy. We have done a great day’s work.’-
Peter leaned forward confidentially.
-‘To be quite honest Sir, I’m a bit worried. This business with the informer, what if they find out our plans again? And then some of the orders are, um, surprising.’-
-‘Why of course you’re worried. Because you don’t see the whole picture.’- he laughed again.
Peter tried to keep his face puzzled and expectant. Smiling manfully into the General’s stinking breath.
-‘We’re not going to attack the docks.’- he half whispered. After the waiter left.
-‘We’re not?..’-
Peter rolled his eyes in feigned surprise, delighting Mulcatty, who was shoveling in food.
His habitual gluttony vanquishing his doctor’s advice.
-‘No son, I can tell you now, I think. The commandos will destroy all their supply depots, starting with Merca-Pool in the center, and their transport and factories.’- He sat back, grinning, to watch Peter’s response.
–‘G Great-‘ he managed to come out with. His brain whirling in horror. -‘A surprise attack at midnight. They’ll all be down the docks. Brilliant Sir!’-
Mulcatty clapped his hands, beckoned for Peter’s ear.
-‘But not at midnight.’- he whispered. -‘They move at nine o clock!’-
-‘Great idea Sir.‘- said Peter. This was Bruton’s work for sure. –‘We’d better eat up so!’-
The General was sawing his slab of meat. Peter crunched a mouthful of salad.
Thinking not of the message, but about his two young sons.
If he could get away soon he might still take them to the cinema.
But then again they might be out on strike..
His heart was leaping. He had to act. Every minute delay would count for lives now! He must radio James. At any cost.
Peter took one delicious fork-full of fresh salmon with lemon. Steeled himself.
-‘Excuse me Sir, I’ll just slip out to the toilet.’-
Then he was walking to the door. And a Special cop was getting up and following.
-‘Just taking a leak.’-
-‘Me too.’-
And they were alone in the roomy perfumed toilet.
–‘Gotta get out it’s a trap oh shit oh fuck.’- Peter was thinking, then deciding -‘Gotta get rid of this man.’-
He had managed a few squirts against the pink tiles. The Special was still pissing.
-‘Great dinner in here.’– said the cop.
As a surge of anger swept over Peter. He hit him from behind, whacking his head against the wall, and again. As he collapsed the flush came on, spraying yellow and bright red water.
And Peter was on his knees. Frantic. Gasping. Pulling out the slim phone.
–‘James James. Can you hear me James. Oh shite he’s not there. Oh come on!’-
-‘This is me. Don’t panic. Using wrong name.’-
-‘Listen they move at nine. Not the docks. All the supply depots. Coming through the city to hit Merca-Pools Center first. ‘– he said rapidly.
–‘Got it. Anything else. You okay?’-
-‘No no I just knocked out a Special in the jacks upstairs at the Magestique. The General’s outside eating with lots more police.’-
-‘Okay cool it. Hide the phone, try a toilet tank. Say yer man slipped okay. Maybe you can get out, okay?’-
-‘Yes yes I’ll try it.’-
-‘We’ll pass by the door in about ten minutes. A yellow air cab.’-
-‘Okay I’ll try it thanks a lot.’-
-‘Calm down now. Great work bye bye.’-
In a moment he was rid of the special mobile, he took a deep breath and opened the door.
Across the sumptuous dining area General Mulcatty was still tucking in.
But two more Specials were walking quickly towards him!
-‘Hey your mate’s hurt, He’s after falling. Come quick.’-
The police glanced at each other, snub nosed pistols appeared in their hands.
-‘No no he’s after slipping.’- said Peter desperately. As they followed him in. –‘Slipped and hit his head.’-
Outside Mulcatty went on eating, as Peter helped pull his victim out of his piss and blood.
The man groaned deeply.
–‘Oh no no no he’s waking up!’– Peter thought.
–‘I’ll just go and call a doctor.’-he said.
-‘No wait here. You’re under arrest.’-
But he was already out the door. Darting between the tables.
-‘Stop! Stop that man. Stop or I shoot.’-
A loud bang. Breaking glass. But Peter was out of the Dining Room.
Belting down the corridor. Leaping into the wide stairway.
-‘Stop that man!’-
Seeing men running below. Trying to stop. Lifting his arms. More shots and falling in a black scream.
Then nothing more. Peter Kennedy’s body rolled to the bottom of the stairs, still twitching, as tourists scattered in panic.
Excited men closed in. Jerking up their guns over his limp and broken body.
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