Chapter 35

Poole. Five days later, towards the end of October.

Jacko looked up and smiled as he heard the outer door to the flat open then close, then frowned slightly as the footsteps coming up the stairs were not the slow, light steps he was expecting, but a rapid rush. He moved towards the door, only slightly worried, but when the door opened and he saw who it was, he relaxed and smiled.

He had almost stopped being amazed at his luck. But only almost. The morning after he had ‘rescued’ young Melanie Harwell, they had had a long discussion over a protracted breakfast. It had very quickly turned to the Confederacy, the Sa’arm, extraction and related matters, before he had given her a lift back to Bournemouth. He hadn’t expected to see or hear from her again, but nearly a month later she had shown up on his doorstep, with a bottle of wine, and asked if she could talk with him again.

Jacko hadn’t been particularly busy, so they had sat in his tiny living room, the views out over the estuary looking particularly beautiful in the February sunset, and just chatted.

As before, the chat had started light and inconsequential. Mel had thanked him profusely for his help at the start of the year, but as the evening went on, the talk had soon turned to politics and in particular, what Jacko had told her the previous month about Graham Thorn and the coming invasion. Jacko had been impressed by her new knowledge: she had obviously done a lot of researching. At the end of the evening, she kissed him goodnight, and sped off in a taxi.

After that she had turned up every two or three weeks, and each time they had just sat and talked. By the start of April he had talked her into ‘infiltrating’ the local student union. With his help and guidance, some of it got remotely from Confederacy advisers, she had campaigned very effectively, and had quickly been appointed to an important role within the university union body.

The following September, just before Mel was due to start back at university for her final year of study, she had, in her own words: ‘tripped him up and fallen underneath him’, and despite the thirty-one year age gap, they had become lovers. Jacko had been uncomfortable and uncertain at first, his daughter was older than Mel, and he already had a grand child, but Melanie soon persuaded him that she wanted this, and that so did he.

Jacko quickly inducted her into the Maquis while at the same time, with the discreet aid of the Maquis, and to a lesser extent a Confederacy contact, she had got herself elected as President of the Bournemouth University NUS. By the following April, just a year after she had started campaigning, she had been elected onto the national committee.

A year after that she had been elected as the National Vice President. Now, six months on, she was about to set in motion their plan to get the NUS, and through it, students nationally, to come out in opposition to Graham Thorn. And all this done in spite of the fact that for two years now all new students entering university had to be members of the TaF.

“Hello love,” Jacko said when Mel entered the small living room.

“Hey babe,” they kissed briefly. “I think I’m in trouble.”

“Oh? What’s happened?”

“I was at national HQ in Drummond Street today for a National Executive meeting. There was a very heated argument in the meeting, so for lunch I decided to get a sandwich from the deli round the corner.” She shrugged slightly and gave a half grin. “I prefer the food from there than from the union canteen anyway. Especially these days.”

Jacko smiled briefly. “Okay, so what’s the problem?”

“I’d just got my baguette when I got a phone call from the receptionist. Apparently half a dozen Safety Patrollers had charged in asking for me and Martin.” Martin was the national president.

“Oh shit. Were you dropped in it by the receptionist?”

Mel shook her head. “No. Martin hadn’t been able to make the meeting, and she knew I was out of the building.”

“What did she do?”

“She sent them up to Martin’s office. It’s on the top floor and the lift isn’t working, so they had to charge up five flights of stairs,” she giggled softly. “Then she got my jacket and briefcase from the meeting room, brought them down to reception, and rang me.”

“So you did a runner?”

“Too bloody right. Wouldn’t you?”

Jacko smiled and nodded. “You did the right thing. I can protect you here, or at least, I can get you safe. Ever been to Brownsea Island?”

Mel smiled. “No, but I’ve often wanted to. But wouldn’t I be trapped there?”

“Not as badly as you might think.” He frowned. “How did you get back to Poole?”

“Was gonna come back by train, but when I got to Waterloo it was crowded with Patrollers. I saw them stop a number of young brunette’s and ask for ID, so I guessed they were looking for me. I managed to get an underground train to Heathrow, but got off in Hounslow, then managed to get a bus to Staines, from where I was simply gonna start walking and hope to hitch a lift.”

“Bloody hell babe! It’s one hell of a long way from Staines to here. You’d have been walking for two days. At least. So what happened?” Jacko looked at his watch. “You can’t have walked very far.”

“No.” Mel shook her head. “I’d barely got as far as Runnymede, thirty minutes if that, when a Landrover stopped. She brought me back roads practically all the way.”

“You didn’t get stopped at all? No road blocks or anything?”

“No.” She frowned. “Well, it’s funny you say that. We got stopped just this side of Hook, but all they did was give us a route and tell us to stick to it or else. According to Gemma, the woman giving me the lift, that was a ‘B’ road, so no road blocks should have been expected, and the route we were given was also all ‘B’ roads. We hardly saw any other traffic at all. It was weird. She dropped me off near Poole cemetery and I walked from there.”

Jacko thought for a moment. “In what way weird?” he asked after a while.

“Well, when we got pulled over, Gemma and me were both nervous as anything, but after we’d stopped, she seemed to relax. Almost as if she knew them; but if they did know each other, no one said anything. We did follow the map we were given, even though it took us a very round-about route.”

“How old was this Gemma?”

“Mmm. Year or two older than me maybe?”

“Mid twenties,” Jacko murmured, shaking his head. “Don’t know anyone in the organisation locally that might fit that description. Did she say where she was going?”

“No. Didn’t ask to be honest. She asked me where I was headed and I told her Poole or Bournemouth. She then just chose where to drop me.”

“Mmm, let me ask if any of the others knows of anything unusual. It may be the patrol were out looking for someone else and the pair of you just didn’t fit the descriptions.”

“Maybe,” Mel looked worried. “But why did she seem to relax when she saw them? I was really rather scared after that, just in case she turned out to be a member somehow. Maybe one of these political officers, or simply ... well, I don’t know. Except that that doesn’t fit in with her nervousness when we first approached them.”

“I don’t know love, let me try and find something out.”

Mel nodded and went into the bathroom.

Meanwhile, Jacko went into the bedroom and fished a very strange looking radio hand-set from under the bed.

Ten minutes later he joined her in the kitchen, just as the kettle boiled. While Jacko spoke, Mel made herself a large cup of tea, and a coffee for him.

“Right. First off you are in danger. Apparently you are wanted by the TaF, but also you’ve been tagged high up by us for ‘rescuing’. I’m guessing that Martin may have slightly jumped the gun, because there’s been riots at a number of universities around the country. Anti EF, and in particular anti-TaF protests have been staged at a number of places, and the Patrol have tried to arrest a number of the leaders. I don’t think they, or we, realised just how much anger at the TaF, and the Patrol in particular, has been growing in parts of the country. In Bristol, drivers from the local bus company blocked the Security Patrol’s HQ with their buses. In Derby the local branch of the Railwayman’s union got involved on the side of the students. Other places it’s been more mixed. Both Manchester and Nottingham universities had their protests crushed brutally, oddly with the help of the railwayman’s union in Manchester, while Leicester’s protest was allowed to go ahead totally untouched.

“I didn’t take much note of very many places, but I know there were a number of places where there were no riots or protests at all, Liverpool included.”

Mel nodded, “So they’re after me.”

“Uh huh. Not sure whether Martin’s already been picked up by us. The picture is somewhat confused.”

“I’m damn lucky they didn’t pick me up at that check-point outside Hook then,” observed Mel.

Jacko smiled softly. “That wasn’t a TaF checkpoint.”

Mel frowned. “Yeah it was. They were all Security Patrollers.”

Jacko shook his head. “No, they weren’t. They were, well let’s say they were other people pretending to be SP’s.”

“Oh. Why? Maquis?”

Jacko nodded, his smile fading. “They were targeting a real nasty Security Patrol that’s been targeting drivers on those roads. As it turned out they were only a couple of miles behind you and travelling fast. The route they sent you down was intended to ensure you avoided all the real checkpoints that have been set up. I’ve no idea whether they recognised you or what, but they set you safe.”

Mel nodded. “Gemma?”

Jacko shrugged. “No idea. No one could, or would, tell me anything. I’m guessing she’s involved somehow, but exactly how I’ve no idea. But that is only a guess. She might just have been a genuine Good Samaritan.”

Mel nodded. “Maybe. Hope so. She seemed a nice lady, I don’t want to get her in trouble.”

Jacko shrugged. “Not much we can do about it. Anyway, we need to get out, and fast. Or you do anyway, and I’m coming with you. Reed’ll be here in another,” he glanced quickly at the clock, “thirty mins or so. We’re travelling light, just our ‘kits’, so you’ve no need to pack.”

Mel nodded. At some point it had to happen, she’d just hoped it wouldn’t be as sudden, nor as late in the year as this. She glanced at her watch to check the date. 27th. “Still only October,” she muttered.

Jacko gave a brief, wry smile. “It’s taken far too long. People just haven’t argued. Haven’t objected. They’ve just accepted the situation.”

Jacko filled a bag with easily transportable and easily usable food, food that didn’t necessarily need cooking, while Mel prepared a quick, hot and filling meal for them both. They had just sat down to eat when the phone rang.

Mel and Jacko looked at each other, startled, then at the phone. Many of the phone lines had been down for a few months now, and no one had called here in even longer.

“I didn’t know that phone still worked,” Mel whispered.

“Nor me.” Jacko reached over for the phone, picked it up and held it to his ear. A moment later he slammed it down and hurried into the bedroom, returning quickly with the secure radio handset.

Turning it on, he set the channel number to 1, then pressed the PTT button. “Green sixty.”

There was no answer. He quickly checked the channel, volume, and battery lights, then waited another thirty seconds. “Green sixty,” he called again. Silence.

“I think we’d probably better make a move,” said Mel, rising. “This may be a warning of some sort.”

Jacko nodded.

“Green sixty, third call,” he said into the radio for the third time.

Both of them were now moving to pick up the few things they were going to take, but just ten seconds later an answer came back. “Green sixty. Blue. Sit tight. Ten.”

Jacko relaxed. “Blue just means there’s a flap on, but we’re not involved. Sit tight, well you know what that means, basically don’t panic and stay where you are, and the ten just means we’ll be called on channel ten in due course.”

“Doesn’t it ever get confusing having a colour as part of your call sign, but also having colours as code words?”

“Sometimes. Not usually. A status of green, well we probably wouldn’t need to be using the radios anyway. It means all safe, nothing happening. Carry on with your lives as normal.” He smiled slightly. “For whatever definition of normal you care to invent.” He clicked the channel selector around to 10 then put the handset in the middle of the table.

“Hmm,” Mel gave a soft smile. “Do we have time to finish our dinner?”

Jacko nodded. “Yep. I think so.”

They had finished their meal, and were cleaning up: Jacko knew it was unlikely he’d be back soon, but couldn’t bear the idea of leaving it in a mess, when there was a soft triple knock on the front door, followed by a short pause then a double knock. “Brian,” muttered Mel. “I’ll let him in.” She frowned and glanced at Jacko. “Are we leaving? Or does the ‘Sit tight’ take precedence.”

Jacko looked startled. “Dunno,” he nodded at the stairs. “Better let him in. He may know more.”

“Looks like you’ve started something,” Reed grinned to Mel when she opened the door. He slipped inside quickly, Mel shutting and barring the door behind him. “You ready?” he asked as he preceded her up the stairs.

“Um. Better ask Dave.”

Reed chuckled softly. He knew Jacko hated being called David, and Dave was only marginally better; but Mel was different, she not only could and did call him Dave, but he accepted it. Equally, for some reason, Reed himself had told Mel his own first name, Brian, and she insisted on using it, rather than the slightly altered surname that everyone used. His real surname was Reedon, though actually very few people knew that. Jacko and Mel were amongst a very small and select few.

“What’s up mate?” Reed asked. “Mel seems to think you might not be ready. You were told what time I’d be here?”

“Yeah. I’ve been given a blue sit-tight call, and told there’ll be more later. Channel ten is a low traffic, low priority channel, so I think we’re not in as much of a hurry as we originally thought.”

“Ah. Okay. In that case, any chance of a coffee? It’s a bit parky out there.”

“Don’t suppose you know what the current flap is?” Jacko asked Reed. It slightly frustrated him that he was often not directly involved with the active force units.

“We’re targeting a particular Patrol, one that is known to be targeting small independent shops and cafes and forcing them to pay protection money. Hopefully we can get them off the street fairly quickly and quietly.”

“And what do you think their bosses are gonna do when a ‘fund-raising’ patrol goes missing? You don’t think they do it for themselves do you?” Jacko asked scornfully.

Reed sighed. “Unfortunately I’m only a lowly corporal and anything I say to the lieutenant gets ignored. But then, my twenty-two years of active service means bugger all against his one year at Sandhurst followed by three years of unemployment.”

“Shit,” Jacko murmured, shaking his head worriedly.

Mel made all three of them mugs of coffee and they sat, mostly in silence, just waiting for something to happen.