Chapter 22

High Wycombe, Buckinghamshire. April.

As the man nominally in charge of High Wycombe’s main police station, Chief Superintendent Matthew Jacobs read through the single sheet of paper on his desk for the third time, slower this time, his heart sinking. He’d guessed months ago that something like this might be coming and had drawn up contingency plans just in case the news caused riots when it got out. Though in his heart he had always hoped that something would happen to ensure he didn’t have to use them, in reality he had always known that was a false hope.

He reached over to the shelf beside his desk and pulled down the folder, opening it to the relevant page, and began to read. There were guaranteed to be riots this afternoon and this evening, and the ‘Safety Patrols’ would be out in force, trying to break heads. The problem was, they were as likely to be breaking the heads of his constables as they were of the rioters.

As he scanned the pages to remind himself of the plan, his mind wandered a bit. In the last months it had become obvious, Jacobs thought, to all but the most naive or unobservant, that the Earth First government was no longer what people thought. Far from being the soft-left government that it had been under Neil Conway, it was now a hard-right, fascist, neo-nazi government, hell-bent on turning Britain into, well, Jacobs wasn’t sure, he just knew he hated it with a passion.

Jacobs was normally a floating voter, someone who looked at all the parties to see what their policies were on a number of issues that he thought important. In general he thought of himself politically as someone slightly to the right of centre, though in reality he was probably slightly to the left. He had voted for Earth First at the last national election five years ago, but had voted Lib-Dem at the concurrent local elections. At the last local elections, eleven months previously, there had been only Truth And Freedom candidates, four of them, on the ticket for his ward, so he hadn’t bothered to vote. For the first time in thirty years, he hadn’t voted. He had not been in the least surprised to see that the combined vote of all the TaF candidates was barely one quarter of the vote that the winning Earth First candidate had polled in the previous local election, nor that the local turnout had been just 9%. It hadn’t mattered, virtually all the local councillors were now TaF, and the few that weren’t generally didn’t bother turning up to council meetings as bullying was rife and they were regularly harassed and heckled. On two occasions that Jacobs knew of, non TaF members had even been refused entry to the council chamber.

He looked at the printout of the email that had been left on his desk. It had come from the Chief Constable of Thames Valley Police, a man Jacobs knew deserved about the same respect as Graham Thorn. The email told him what he’d guessed over a year ago was coming: national elections due for four weeks’ time had been “postponed for a short while”. Jacobs was convinced that in reality this meant cancelled completely. There would be a formal announcement on the television sometime soon. He glanced at his watch. In about forty minutes in fact, and that might bring the protesters out onto the street which, unless it was very carefully controlled, would quickly degenerate into riots. He continued to re-read his contingency plan.

The door to his cramped office crashed open. “What are you doing in here?” snarled the man who entered. “You should be out pulling criminals off the streets.”

Jacobs looked up in resignation at the thin, almost emaciated, face of Chief Assault Leader Hugh Rowland, who glared back at him with a supercilious sneer. Jacobs’ lip curled slightly in disgust.

“What criminals? The ones who have illegally cancelled the elections? Or the ones who have invaded this station and are forcing my officers to arrest people who have committed no crimes? What about those two ‘gentlemen’,” Jacobs’ voice was scornful, “who deliberately and maliciously kicked and punched a young woman unconscious in the high street in broad daylight? Prevented the Paramedics from getting to her? Allowed her to bleed to death? Or maybe the ones who prevented those same murderers, for that’s what they are, from being arrested? Those are the criminals who need to be pulled off the streets.”

Rowland’s face went crimson with fury. “Do not question my authority here,” he yelled. “My men tried to arrest a traitor, and they were pelted with bricks.”

“Rubbish. That girl was exercising her right to free speech...”

“It’s not free speech when it’s promoting treason and telling lies,” Rowland shouted again. He leaned forwards over Jacobs’ desk, pushing his face towards the sitting policeman, his eyes appearing to bulge out in his fury. “What she was saying was treason. And everyone who pelted us with bricks was also committing treason. I want them found.”

“One stone, not bricks, and it’s not treason if it’s the truth,” retorted Jacobs. “Your men are thugs and criminals, extorting protection money from local shop-keepers, running drugs and prostitues. And Thorn is a thief and a murderer. All his cabinet should be arrested,” his voice started to rise as his anger started to overwhelm him, “and if I had my way the whole lot of them, including you, would be hanged.”

Rowland’s face went cold and hard, and Jacobs saw the glitter of hatred in his eyes. Suddenly Jacobs didn’t care any longer: the so called Safety Patrols had been based in his station for well over a year, causing all sorts of problems and chaos. Then the Political Officers had arrived, and now, finally, he’d had enough. Enough of the animal in front of him, and enough of trying to work honourably inside what had recently turned into a dishonourable and corrupt system. As a policeman with over thirty years of service, he had hoped to retire anyway in only a few more years’ time, so going early to get away from this animal was no hardship.

Pushing himself to his feet, he raised his own voice even more. “You are the traitor here,” he thundered. “You are a traitor to the British people. You are a traitor to this community and this station, and you are a traitor to the human race. I cannot, will not, tolerate your presence here any longer. You and your ANIMALS will leave this station, or you will end up in my cells.”

Rowland blinked slightly at Jacobs’ tirade, but did not flinch. “You think?” he asked coldly. He raised his voice. “THOMAS!”

A moment later one of Rowland’s deputies, a toadying yes-man, darted into the room. “Yes sir?”

“Arrest this man, and everybody else in this station unless they can prove to you that they are members of Truth And Freedom.”

“Yes sir!” Thomas’ voice was enthusiastic. He reached out towards Jacobs to take his arm, but Jacobs slapped it away.

“You bastards will both regret this,” he told them coldly but calmly. He shouldered his way out from behind his desk.

Rowland and Thomas each grabbed one of Jacobs’ arms, and forced him out of the office, Rowland yelling for assistance.

The three men who came to see what the shouting was about were one of Jacobs’ inspectors plus two constables. “These two ‘gentlemen’ are committing treason,” growled Jacobs before either of the two POs could speak.

There was a short scuffle, but the narrowness of the corridor prevented any real outcome beyond the release of Jacobs’ arms. Unfortunately the four policemen were on the wrong side of the two POs: Rowland and Thomas were between them and assistance. Jacobs knew there was no one behind him, ‘friend’ or ‘enemy’, and there was no way out in that direction, he had to go forwards, towards more allies, but also towards more POs. On the other hand, there were four policemen to only two POs. Jacobs and his men advanced slowly along the corridor, pushing Rowland and Thomas backwards. Rowland, despite his unpleasant nature, was not totally stupid. He backed off, calling for more assistance at the top of his voice.

As he passed a fire alarm point on the wall, Jacobs punched it, and the fire alarm began to sound. The fire station was only two hundred yards away, so they would be here very quickly. One thing Jacobs had discovered quite recently, was that the Fire & Rescue service had not had political officers foisted upon them. Yet!

The station corridors quickly got crowded and Rowland and Thomas quickly got lost in the crowd as the many occupants, both service and civilian, made their way to their evacuation points. Jacobs and his three companions following them out. One of the fire marshals waved him forwards. “Sir, do you know where the fire is?”

“There’s no fire. I punched an alarm.”

“Sir?”

“Make sure everyone is out, and I mean everyone, especially those lap dogs the ‘Ministry of Magic’ forced upon us.” The Ministry of State Security had got its new, unofficial, and denigrating name when it became obvious that many of its pronouncements had as much worth in the real world as the fictional Ministry of Magic in the later Harry Potter novels.

“Sir.”

“As they come out, I want them arrested, and locked in the cells. Where’s the custody sergeant?”

“I’ll find her.”

“And get me the duty officer as well.”

“Yes sir.”

“And get that fire alarm turned off,” Jacobs called after the retreating constable.

Jacobs was already regretting punching the fire alarm. It had been a spur-of-the-moment action that in retrospect was more likely to assist the Patrollers and the political officers than his own people.

At that moment a fire officer came sprinting around the corner. He had obviously run from his station, as it was quicker than waiting for a tender. “What’s happening? Where’s the fire?”

Jacobs grabbed him. “My apologies, there’s no fire. I hit the alarm to get the station emptied.” He looked quickly around. “I thought it would help me sort out the government lackeys foisted on us.” He grinned. “And to escape them arresting me.”

The fire officer looked at him and frowned. “Arrest you?”

“Aye. I questioned his competence, his parenthood, and his membership of the human race.”

Station Officer Ken Biggley gave a bark of laughter. “Know what you mean, mate. I’ve been lucky. We had one lad in blue watch who thought that way, until someone showed him the error of his ways.”

“Do I want to know how that was done?”

“Nope! Do you want me to stand the lads down, and call it a false alarm?”

“Um, can you and your lads hang around? We could use the water hoses if the animals start to get ‘fractious’.”

Biggley grinned. “Not a problem. I’ll station them either end of QV road, help to block it off. Do you want me to get that alarm turned off as well?”

“Oh, please, yes. Thank you.”

QV Road was Queen Victoria Road, a short, wide, busy, one way road that formed part of a mini one way system. At the start of the road, on the left, was the police station, beyond which was the town hall, now almost entirely used for private functions in its beautiful old, oak-panelled rooms. Then came the old and now abandoned library building, and finally a small grassy area before the left turn onto the High Street. On the other side, opposite the police station, were the main council offices beyond which was the central post office. With a roundabout onto the main A40 through High Wycombe at the start by the police station, and traffic lights at the other leading onto the High Street to the left; the Amersham Hill straight ahead; and the second part of the one way system, heading away from the traffic lights on the right, Queen Victoria Road was a very important road.

By setting up one blockade by the roundabout and another just before the traffic lights, it was easy enough to block off Queen Victoria Road to vehicles and make it slightly more awkward for outsiders to interfere. At the high street end though it was easy enough for pedestrians to bypass a road block if they wanted to, but police tape stopped casual bystanders from getting through. Unfortunately the blockages did very quickly cause a traffic jam by the roundabout as the busses needed to get along the road to the high street, or up the hill towards the railway station and onwards towards Amersham. A constable was quickly despatched to try and redirect as much traffic as possible. Having a traffic jam as well as a riot was just inviting trouble.

The custody sergeant, Sergeant Sue Stears, arrived at that moment, followed closely by Inspector Garry Freeman, the current duty officer. Jacobs pulled them both to one side, just as the fire alarm switched off. He quickly filled them in on what had happened. “I think,” he concluded, “we should send as many of the civillian staff home as we can spare. The rest need to be got back inside.”

Freeman looked a bit worried. “At least two of my watch are members of TaF sir.”

“Then they need to be arrested at the same time. Sue, are there enough spaces in the cells?”

“We would have to double and even triple up. We’ve got that drunken layabout Dobson in cell eleven, he could be released, but cells two and eight have got those two drug dealers CID brought in this morning.”

“Shit. They can’t be doubled up, and they can’t be let go. Okay. Do what you can. It’s Dobson’s lucky day, give him a gentle ticking off then get rid of him pronto. Garry, your two TaF men, do you think they can be talked into changing their allegiance?”

The inspector thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “I really don’t know.”

“Are they out on patrol right now?”

The inspector thought for a moment. “One is currently on desk duty, the other came back in about twenty minutes ago, with a shop-lifter, so he’s probably writing up the arrest report.”

“Right, send them to my office. Can you find a sergeant you can trust to accompany them?”

“Not a problem.”

“Good. Fill him in, but the two TaF members ... who are they by the way?”

“PCs Garrick and Taylor.”

Jacobs sighed. “It would be Taylor. He’s been a trouble maker for ten years. Okay. Keep them in the dark, but send them to my office with a sergeant you can trust. Then the pair of you arrest all the SPs, and in particular the Political Officers, fast as you can, and get them into the cells. Preferably keep all the political officers away from the other Patrollers. Whatever you do, you must get Rowland and that toady of his Thomas. Sergeant? Can you sort that out now, before they can get organised and we have a real fight on our hands?”

Sue nodded, a look of suppressed excitement and determination on her face, and the two hurried off.

Jacobs looked around for his deputy, a hulking Detective Superintendent who was a lot smarter than he looked.

Quite by chance DS Ian Bound had had words with Rowland just moments earlier. Rowland had seemed quite excitable, and babbling on about traitors, so Bound had gently taken the younger man to one side and, once they were out of view of everyone else, had promptly arrested him “for his own safety”. Rowland had been so surprised that he had been cuffed and bundled into a police van almost before he had realised what had happened to him.

“I’m not sure what you’ve done,” Bound told him gently, “and if I’ve misunderstood you’ll be released shortly. Until then, calm down and I’m sure this can all be sorted out.” Bound was pretty certain he hadn’t misunderstood. He was pretty certain, from Rowland’s babbling, that Jacobs, and possibly other, had been, or were to be, arrested on changes of treason.

Rowland said nothing. He was already in cuffs and in the cage, and the van was armoured. Only light armour to be sure, but it meant the van was heavy and wouldn’t move much if he tried to rock it to get attention, and it was also fairly well soundproofed so there was little point in shouting. He sat there, steaming and furious, absolutely confident he would be released within a very short time. Jacobs and Bound would both get a bullet in the head, he promised himself.

Thomas, although very much a ‘yes-man’, was far more wily than his boss. He hadn’t gone firing off his mouth to everyone to get Jacobs and his men arrested, instead he had found the first three POs who would listen to him, and had taken them off to one side to explain all that had happened. They in turn had slowly spread the word, and by the time Freeman had got his men organised, the two sides had already begun to separate.

Five Safety Patrol members and a political officer had now been arrested, plus Rowland; and the two constables who were known TaF members were now waiting in Jacobs’ office. Outside the police station, it was obvious that the SP’s were outnumbered by two to one, and that someone, probably Inspector Freeman, had had the wits to get the riot gear out. A number of the riot trained policemen were already in their protective gear, and others were being quickly cycled back, a few at a time, to get kitted out.

Police vans began to edge out of the station car park, replacing the fire tenders with more suitable vehicles, and before long it was obvious trouble was probably unavoidable. With the ends of the road blocked off to vehicles, the unarmed SPs stayed and taunted the police, though it soon became obvious that the political officers had left. For a time nothing changed, until, from the council offices opposite, a TaF councillor, well known to the police as a troublemaker, bully, racist and long time petty criminal and drug dealer came out and demanded to know why the police were preventing the SPs from doing their job. “Where’s Hugh Roland?” he demanded.

No one answered, instead the police, by now mostly in protective riot gear, began to force the Patrollers back and back, pressing them against the vans. It was easy enough to escape around the side of the vans and away, and many did so, but in the mean time, another three Patrollers were arrested.