Chapter 17

Do you think we can assume that the attacks on your home are at an end, Mr Robertson?

Reg took on a pensive look, then offered, “With all the losses of personnel that they have suffered, I think that mob are unlikely to come back, but an occasional drive-by by one of your police cars may act as an extra deterrent, sir.”

“I think we may be able to detour one of our patrol cars round this way for the next day or two at a minimum, perhaps longer. In the meantime, you had best see to that back door, Mr Robertson.”

None of the unconscious men had stirred yet, Reg told the policeman. The sergeant left to organise the ambulance personnel to access the back door for entry, while Reg went to remove the barricade behind it. When Reg got there, he found the barricade was already pulled to one side, and remembered that Thomas and Gerald would have done that before they left for work, so they could leave the house; no-one had thought to ask him to push the unit back to the door. Stupid! He was glad the drugs gang had not tried the back door. They seemed to have a fixation on the front of the house, probably assuming that the back door was just as secure, and less easy to get to. He opened the back door, and called to the girls, “That’s the back door open for the ambulancemen, girls. You can expect them at any minute.”

He returned to the smashed front window, and told the sergeant that the back door was open. He went on, “Can the security company man get started on replacing the window, sarge?”

“Sorry, no. Not until our forensics people arrive and take pictures of everything.”

“Forensics? Whatever for? It is not like a murder scene.”

The sergeant pointed at the Range Rover stuck in the doorway. “This is what we call a car crash, sir. We record such events where a life is or was at risk, and this looks like attempted murder to me.”

Reg caved in as gracefully as he could.

“Okay, sergeant. I’ll tell him there will be a delay before he can start work. He can order a new door as well.”

“Already done, sir. One of the constables apprised him of the situation, and he is on the phone to his employer to report the delay.”

Reg stuck his head out farther and angled himself to catch sight of the security van. The man was indeed sitting in his van with his phone in hand.

“Fine. That means we don’t have to tell Prudence’s dad what is going on. He would be extremely annoyed.”

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“Oh, yes, you wouldn’t know. Prudence - one of the ladies inside - her father runs the security firm. An important man.”

“That doesn’t explain how the van managed to get here before we did, sir.”

“Oh, he was not here because of today. He was coming here to repair the damage caused by the previous attack. His arrival at this point in time was sheer serendipity.The attackers drove off the minute police sirens were heard, thank goodness. It saved us damaging more of their men!”

“How many men drove off, sir?”

“Two, I think. It was all very busy at the time, so I am not 100 per cent certain!”

“So, out of an estimated six attackers, you neutralised four of them?”

“That must be the case, sergeant. When we were first threatened at the door, I responded by saying that any attack on us would be dangerous to them. They didn’t pay much attention at that time. Perhaps they will now.”

“I would expect that they will see attacks on you as a dangerous occupation, Mr Robertson, and now desist.”

“That is what I am hoping, but I would feel safer if police patrols came by this way from time to time, sergeant”.

“That is a measure I will be proposing to my superiors, sir. I think it will happen, especially as you appear to have connections in high places. On patrols, we make occasional changes to our schedule as a matter of routine, so that we are unpredictable; just so you know.”

“Excellent.”

“Ah, that looks like our forensics colleagues are here.”

A police van had drawn up beside the police cars, and a couple of men got out, carrying white forensics coveralls over their arms, and equipment bags in their hands.

Frances appeared at Reg’s side.

“Move yourself, Reg. You are in the way of the twins, trying to get this floor clean again.”

“Sorry, darling.” He called back to the policeman, “See you later, sergeant. The ladies want me shifted, and I suspect the ambulance people will be through here in a moment.”

He was right.

Erika appeared, leading the ambulance crew to the battle site.

“Here you are, gentlemen; sorry, and lady.”

She went on to advise, “Please be careful of the floor near the window: it is very slippy. Casualties are: two men anaesthetized, I am told; We left the darts in them, so you can establish the dosage and the active ingredient. One man unconscious with a flat spade blow to his head and nails stuck in his bum, and one that came through that car windscreen by failing to put on his seatbelt.”

“Wow! A high casualty rate, it seems,” said the slightly tubby ambulancewoman with an air of authority. She looked to be in her mid-thirties.

Erika replied, “That’s what happens when you attack the Robertson household. We are not just pretty faces; or perhaps more truthfully I should say we are not even pretty faces!”

The woman regarded Erika with respect. “I think prettiness doesn’t help in a battle, dear, and this looks like a battle. You did well.” Her colleagues were already working on the casualties.

Erika asked, “Are you in charge?”

“Yep. Pretty doesn’t get you far in this job either, except at junior level. Competence is more important as you go up the tree!”

“You have it in one. Even better is when you find a man who respects you for who you are rather than how you look.”

The woman smiled back. “I have a husband like that.”

“Good for you. This is ours,” she said, indicating Reg.

“Ours?” The lady was quick on the uptake.

“Yep. We have to share him, but he is worth it. We are off soon to get married on Rehome.”

“Rehome?” she repeated with a frown on her face. “I have heard some unbelievable tales about that place, but all good, wherever it is; no-one seems to know.”

Erika remarked, “It is still secret, so keep it to yourself.”

“Where is it, anyway?” the other asked.

“I have no idea of its actual location,” said Erika. “We have a deal with the people who run the transportation, that’s all.”

“You are sure it is not fantasy?”

“I am sure. There is enough evidence to prove that, but I am not going to tell you what evidence.”

“I see. Well, have fun when you go. Getting married you said?”

“Yep. Rehome permits multi-person marriages, so that suits us.”

“Your husband-to-be must be quite a man.”

“We made him that way, and he appreciates it.”

Another of the crew caught her attention and she looked a query at him.

“Ready to shift them, Jeannie.”

“Any priorities?”

“Just one; the guy that came through the windscreen, twisted his head on the way. He looks iffy, so he should go first, on his own, and fast. We can load the other three in the other vehicle; they are not much more than unconscious, so no rush.”

“Right. You and John take the doubtful one now, and I’ll see about the rest.”

As the first of the unconscious men was being stretchered off to the rear of the building, the lead ambulancewoman remarked to Reg, “Isn’t this the same address we were called to the other night?”

Reg nodded and agreed, “Yes. That was an earlier attack, just with baseball bats and some explosive. They didn’t do well that time either.”

“I thought I recognised the postcode. I was in the control room, but a different crew attended to that callout.”

“Hopefully you won’t have any more calls to this address, ma’am.”

“Your lady says you are going to get married shortly.”

“Thats right, ma’am. We have an invitation to emigrate, and get married there.”

“No need to be coy, young man. The lady says you are marrying several girls.”

“Well, I love them and they all have my babies, so I want to marry them, yes.”

“Cart before the horse, sort of thing?” she asked wryly.

He ignored the jibe. “English law says I can only marry one, ma’am, so that’s why we are leaving. They can finish their education there, it seems.”

They moved aside to let the next stretcher through, then they resumed their chat.

“All at university, I understand?”

“Most of them. Sidra’s Mum is an exception, for she didn’t get a chance of university. She isn’t daft, so she may embark on something when we get there.”

“Who is Sidra? That’s an unusual name.”

“My sixteen-year-old adopted daughter. The name is Pakistani, as her mother’s family hails from there.”

“You are marrying a Paki ... sorry, a Pakistani?”

Reg looked annoyed. “No. I am marrying the lovely Englishwoman Jessica, who happens to be of Pakistani origin. She has just given me a lovely son, Rex.”

“So you are a dad with her, too, at your tender age. Congratulations.”

“Thank you. Rex is my eighth child, and they are all lovely babies.”

“Eight! You have been very busy, young man.”

“It was what they wanted, ma’am. I just fit in with them; life is easier that way.”

“That is one way of fitting in, all right. I hope it all works out for you and your ladies.”

“I am sure it will, maam. They are all wonderful women in their own right, so being married to them is a delight I will savour.”

The final stretcher eventually moved past them, and the lead woman shook Reg’s hand, saying, “I want to be able to say in the future that I shook Reginald Robertson’s hand. I am sure you will do well for your family, Reginald. We may hear more of you.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I am impressed with the easy way you run your team. They seem to like your style of leadership.”

She gave a short barking laugh. “Thank God for that, is all I can say!”

And she was off, shepherding her crew to the ambulance, glad of having the extra staff for this job.

At last the towing truck appeared outside, and the security man had a short discussion with the driver. It looked like the plan was to remove the vehicle with as little damage to the doorway stonework as possible. Reg went out the back way and came round to watch how they did the removal.

The security man told him, “We want to get as many chains round the Range Rover as possible, to tug it out whole and cause less collateral damage to the building. It doesn’t matter what happens to the car, as it is a write-off anyway. I want to make replacing the door as simple as possible.”

“What about the window?”

“It is too close to the door to work on it while this is going on. Mostly it is just replacing the double-glazed and plasticised pane with a new panel. I have the right size of glazing in the van, as well as a new door. That was just luck; I never expected to have to replace the entire door!Really, if there is no other damage, replacement should just be a couple of hours. Of course, there will be the drying time for any mastic, cement, and glue that I use, so the door and window should not be used for several hours afterwards, preferably for 24 hours.” He held up a cautioning hand. “I know you may need to use it; just take special care not to stress the door or the window.”

Reg understood, and said, “We can try to use the back door as much as possible, and leave the front door locked. I presume it will have the same security bolts to hold it?”

“Take that as a given. Mr Gower would tear a strip off me if I gave you less than the best. That last door stood up to a lot, didnt it? I am taking it back to study it for effectiveness and see if we could improve it.”

“It did. I think it was finally torn out of the frame by the car crashing into it. The explosives hardly moved it, but may have weakened it. I take it I don’t ask your name?”

“Correct.We work with strict security protocols, including no names. I am happy with being called sir; it makes me seem important!”

“You are,” Reg was happy to confirm.

They both got a warning from the tow truck driver to stand clear, and they moved aside while he revved up his truck engine than slowly engaged reverse gear. The Range Rover squealed for a few seconds than slowly slid backwards and out of the doorway and across the pedestrian pavement. Within a few more seconds it was sitting over the kerb, and the truck moved it around to sit on the roadway alongside the kerb.

‘Sir’ hurried over to the doorway to examine the stonework at the sides of the door entranceway, and he turned back to give the driver a thumbs-up to show his delight. He then examined the whole doorway in detail, looking particularly at the slots where bolts had been previously. He came back to Reg and told him, “The stonework is fine, but the holes where the bolts had been wrenched out are damaged. I’ll need to put in some quick-fix cement to repair the damage. I can stick in some bolt-size wooden dowels where the bolts will sit, until the cement dries, then remove the dowels. I can then fit the door frame round the doorway and get it securely fixed to the stone. When I place the door in position, I will not engage the bolts meantime. The standard lock will have to do for now. Tomorrow we can test the security bolts for their fit, and in the meantime I can remove the broken glass from the smashed window, and put the new glazing unit into place. I will have to come back some time tomorrow to finish the door, but I can’t say when.”

Reg asked, “Is there any way we can be sure a new attack will be stopped?”

“Sure. We prepare for all eventualities. I have a steel door cover in the back of the van that I can bolt temporarily over your front door, and that will stop anyone, but will also stop you using the door to get out. Youll have to use your back door. When it comes off, there will be a few drill holes in your stonework, but I can fill those with cement and add some stone dust for the last centimetre of fill, so it will match the existing stonework. Is that okay with you?”

“Sounds just perfect, thanks. Need a hand in moving it out of the van and over to the doorway?”

“That would be handy, Mr. Robertson.”

They soon dragged the heavy sheet out and across, leaning it against the stonework.

“Call if you need a pair of extra hands again.”

Reg left him to his work, and reported back to his wives.

The ladies were not so enthusiastic about the door, but accepted the inevitability under the current conditions.

“What if we need some shopping, Reg?” asked Freda.

“Don’t a lot of the big stores deliver to the customer’s home these days? Even if we have to pay a delivery fee, we can keep safe for now.”

“Okay,” said Freda, grudgingly. “We can do that, but they will have to deliver to the back door.”

“I am sure they often have to do that, darling Freda. Not everyone has a front door.”

“I hate it when you get the better of me over things like shopping. You are a man, not supposed to be able to do that!” She concluded her complaint by grabbing his face and kissing him soundly, to show she had no hard feelings.

Reg stood still as she removed her lips and walked away. He looked bemused, then smiled. He could live with that kind of punitive action!

His phone rang unexpectedly. He answered.

The Personalia voice told him, “Several databases have today shown activity centred on your building, Reginald Robertson; police and ambulance services among them. Are you and your family needing assistance?”

“Currently, no. We have been attacked twice by members of a drug gang, but they came off worse in both instances. We are all fine, thank you.”

“Is this likely to occur again? The police database indicates that they know who is responsible, but there is no sign of an arrest being planned. That is puzzling.”

Reg explained the legal situation. “The police can only arrest someone if they have enough positive evidence of guilt. It is not enough to simply know who the culprit is. They are probably trying to find evidence to link the gang leader to the attacks. It is not easy.”

“Would you like us to provide the police with some links between drugs and the gang’s finances? The links do exist.”

“Sorry. The police have to find the links by legal means, or their evidence will not be admissable in court.”

“That does not sound like a sensible way to administer justice.”

“I agree, but that is the way things work here.”

“It could perhaps be better for us to speak to the gang leader, tell him we have found proof of his culpability of drug crimes, and we have decided to fine him half of his bank assets. That would be simple justice. We can at the same time inform him that the Robertson family are under our protection, and any future criminal acts in either direction will be similarly punished.”

“That would be nice, particularly if you tell him that there are no drugs held by us: they are all in the hands of the police drugs people. That should halt any further attempts to enter this house.”

“We will do that. This English form of justice is not very efficient. Ours is more direct. Goodbye for now, Reginald Robertson.”

In a very few moments, the phone of the gang leader rang insistently, and he answered it. An unknown voice said, “Tony Grainger, you are accused of a number of drugs crimes, and we have checked the facts. These show that you are guilty of being the leader of the gang committing these crimes, and as such you are hereby fined fifty per cent of your bank account holdings; sentence to be carried out immediately. In addition, it has been reported that your men have attacked the home of Reginald Robertson and his family, to your own detriment. His home holds no drugs and you are hereby warned not to make any other attempt to attack or even approach that house. If you do, further punishment will be applied.

That is all. Goodbye.”

His phone went dead. He tried the number recall button, and nothing happened. He tried 1471, but that service merely reported on a call he had received an hour before, from one of his men. There was no mention of a call in recent minutes. That sort of failure was unheard of; for that automatic service not to note a call to a number, even if the caller ID was withheld.

That unsettled him enough that he immediately phoned his bank. The manager recognised him as a good dependable customer with a strong balance in the many tens of thousands, and said, “This is an unexpected pleasure, Mr Grainger. What can I do for you?”

“I received a curious telephone call, saying that money was being taken from my account. Can you tell me if that might be true?”

“It cannot be true sir. I would have known, as my staff have instructions about unexpected movements in certain accounts.”

“Nevertheless, would you get someone to make a check for me, to put my mind at rest?”

“Very well, sir, but I assure you...”

“Just check, please,” he said patiently.

The manager asked one of his staff to do the check, while he continued to reassure his customer of the probity of the bank. That is, until his senior teller returned and whispered in his ear.

“What?” he exclaimed in horror.

Grainger had heard and echoed him, “What is it?”

“It seems that your account was debited a short while ago, apparently on your own authorisation; there was no record of any other authority to debit. Fifty per cent of the amount has gone: exactly fifty per cent, according to my chief teller!”

“Do you know where the money was transferred to? Another account, another bank, what?”

The manager looked a quick query at his chief teller, who spread his hands. The manager insisted, “Go and find out!”

He returned to his caller, “I have instructed my chief teller to find out that fact, Mr Grainger.”

“How long is that going to take?”

“With the computerisation of all our records in the bank, a couple of minutes at the most, I assure you. Our national network is completely secure, with firewalls all over it. I don’t know what has been going on.”

Grainger grated, “Some criminal activity, I suspect.”

“Oh, no, sir. They wouldn’t dare!” Then realised the enormity of what he had implied. “I mean, with a man of such a high reputation as you, it would be unthinkable!”

“Hmmm from now on, I want my account to be made impenetrable except by me appearing in person: got it?”

“I will attend to that myself, sir.”

The Chief Teller arrived back by his side, and spoke, this time in more than a whisper in his agitation.

“Sir, there is no record of the transfer at all, other than the client’s name as debitor and the money being no longer recorded in that account. It is as if it was spirited away, without leaving a shred of evidence of its method of going.”

Grainger called out, “I heard that! I am going to put a claim into the bank for restitution of the sum illegally removed from my account!”

On his line, Grainger heard another voice speaking to him.

“No, you cannot claim for restitution, as the cash was amassed illegally and the fine imposed for that crime. You are hereby fined fifty per cent of what is left, as punishment for that attempt, and if you persist, the same will continue.”

A teller came rushing through to speak to the Head Teller.

“Sir, that account has changed again!”

“In what way has it changed, man?”

“It has halved again, sir, and there is no record of how it happened. It is as if the system itself has conspired to remove money.”

Tha Manager moaned, “I don’t know what to say, Mr Grainger; this is impossible in my experience.”

Grainger gave a shout as if in pain, and rang off, completely at a loss for what to do.

He then rushed to his basement, to check on his stash of valuables in gold and silver, but it was all there, he was glad to find, and heaved a sigh of relief, thankful for small mercies.

He still had no idea how that caller was able to do impossible things: declare him tried and found guilty, announce a cash punishment and immediately impose it on his supposedly secure bank account; and then break into his call to the bank and do the same thing again. The whole thing was so weird, yet very real in its effect on him.

Then his mind switched to the reference to that Robertson home. The authoritative voice had warned against any further attempt to go near that house, but had also said that it held no drugs at all. It would be stupid to let his men continue to harm themselves for nothing, if that was true. Come to think of it, if the voice was protecting them, it was no surprise that his men had twice been beaten off and ended up in hospital. Whoever or whatever the voice was, it was in a position of power and that was not something for a drugs gang to go up against.

Give it up entirely, he concluded, or instead find out where the drugs actually ended up: possibly still in the hands of the police. Finding the police drug store and raiding it would be the simpler option, he decided. The Robertsons could go their own bloody way, he concluded.

At the Robertson household, the front door was in place, as was a steel cover to protect it. The window had been reinstated back to normal, the floor was cleared, clean and sparkling thanks to the twins, and most of the clan were taking naps as likewise many of their babies were.

Reg was now taking another call from The Personalia, informing him of the justice meted out to Tony Grainger and his gang.

“We have now notified the police that Tony Grainger has been declared guilty and fined half his bank assets, so further investigation of his crimes was no longer required, in our estimation. The police seemed as if they did not believe it, so we have told them to speak to his bank manager, and get the facts repeated. We have also warned Grainger off from pursuing their vendetta against your home, and we are convinced he will listen to us on the matter. You should be safe now, until you transfer to Rehome colony.”

Reg thanked the Personalia, and asked about Jennie and her lady friends.

“Mr Dangerfield informed us about them. They seem to be very practical ladies, so should fit into Rehome society without a problem. The two younger ones may wish to become mothers at some stage, so adoption is a possibility for them, though there are few orphans in the Rehome colony. They may have to apply another more direct procedure.”

Reg suggested, “I am sure they will work something out. What about the husbands of the LeBrun twins: the trainee plumber and electrician? The twins will only want to move if their husbands can also go.”

“That is a matter for the colony administration, but we have no objections; we can also help them complete their education in each trade, for we have been expanding the range of educational opportunities that we can impart direct to the human brain. We have found that apparently manual trades require primarily mental training of the person in how to use his hands at the particular trade. Train the brain and the hands will know what to do, as it is the brain that is responsible for the hands.”

“That sounds good to me. I’ll pass it on to them.”

“Have you clarified how many of the parents of your wives wish to attend the wedding ceremony?”

“Not entirely, but I am fairly sure they will all want to be there for that event. There is the question as to which of them might want to remain in the colony. Some have definite business commitments here on Earth that they may prefer to continue with. My own mother is not a good candidate for the colony; she seems to like being in a position to complain about life around her. Do you need a list of attendees and stayers by a specific date?”

“List, no; numbers, yes. We need the numbers to allocate the correct number of Landerships to visit Ascension Island for the passengers. There is often cargo to go as well.”

“You mean, you are acting almost like an airline on Earth; transporting people and cargo together?”

“Mostly, that is so, but as Rehome develops, we have more Landerships allocated purely for cargo. This is for objects and materials that are not readily available on Rehome. It can be as simple as screws for the joiners and carpenters, or it can be a machine that is needed to bend metal into particular shapes. Most food is now being produced locally, as is a drink called beer.”

Over the next few days, the university provided more detail about their plans for the R.E.G. company, and the opportunity was taken of asking them about ongoing work for clients, including those just starting. The university planning team admitted that it would take some time for them to get up to speed, so what the company could do in the interim would make a useful start for them.

This enabled the company to go into more discussions with the government contracts department looking to make savings. The matter of who benefits from savings on contracts had been discussed between departments. After some initial unhappiness from other departments, their point was taken when they compared it to the charges for legal advice made to them by other departments. “Basically, if you expect us to pay for your lawyer’s time, then we should expect to gain from improvements in contracts we write.”

This won them the argument.

Hermione was overjoyed by this decision, as it would allow the company to work on contract details that were very similar to those they had worked on for local authorities to avoid cost overruns. She passed on this news, and Freda punched the sky in her delight. She was the one who spent more time on writing contract clauses than anyone else. She also had her dad to fall back on for any legal finesse that was required.

She asked Hermione if a signed contract had arrived yet, giving them approval to go ahead. Hermione said that a signed copy had come by email, but she was holding back until a physical copy arrived by post; one that could be held safe in their files. Only then could the company officially start work.

Freda was not bothered by this bit of essential legal bureaucracy. She could start work on her own, and claim to have done it later, when the contract was to hand. This was a task she had studied for: applying the law judiciously.

She had fun deleting many clauses and phrases in the government’s existing standard contracts that gave the contractors a chance to wriggle out of commitments with excuses about import prices going up, or ground conditions which proved less favourable than expected, and similar. The replacement clauses required the contractor to be responsible for ensuring that the ground conditions were well established at the start, and forcing the contractor to either allow for import price variations in his costings or alternatively and preferably source from the UK market to avoid such price uncertainty.

She told the others who came to find out how she was getting on with the contract, “I remember Daddy telling me about bids for a job, where there were surprising variations in the bid price; then he noticed that some bidders put in the total price, whereas others put in the bid without tax, and added that the bid would be plus V.A.T. That ‘cheat’ was simply to make their bid look cheaper. He made a point of passing over these bids as not reliable, as indicating underhand thinking.