Chapter 8 : The Night Visitor

James woke suddenly. It was still dark and he wasn't sure of the time or of why he had woken up. He blinked at the darkness of his room, pulled the blanket over himself and lay down again. A second later he felt a gloved hand press down across his mouth and weight across his chest as though someone was sitting on him. His eyes sprang open, suddenly more awake than he had ever been before. He found himself staring up into a face masked in a balaclava. The full red lips and mascara-ed eyes he could see through the holes in the mask told him his assailant was a woman even before her voice snapped, "keep still and quiet, stupid," at him. He tried to wriggle free of the woman straddling him. All she did was to reach behind her back and pull a pistol from her belt. Pushing it up under his chin, she snapped, "I said keep fucking still!" James, terrified, did as he was told."Good," the woman said. "That's better. Now you're going to do just as I say, right?"

She pushed the barrel of the pistols against his throat. "OK?"

"Mmm," agreed James from behind the woman's glove.

"Great," the woman said. "I'm going to take my hand away and you're going to keep quiet."

"Mmm," grunted James again.

The woman slid her hand away reached into a pocket in her black combat trousers and came out with a roll of tape. "On your face," she ordered. "And get your hands out from under the blankets. Cross them behind your back." James wriggled himself around beneath the woman. He was hardly surprised when he felt her wrapping tape around his wrists. "There's nothing here to steal," he started.

"I told you to fucking keep quiet, you stupid shit!"

The woman slammed the butt of her pistol into James's ribs. He gasped in pain as she straddled his mouth with another strip of the tape and then groaned almost inaudibly as she pulled two further strips across the lower half of his face. He was expecting the woman to pull tape around his ankles next. It didn't happen. Instead, she grabbed him by the arm and dragged him from his bed. He fell out of the bed as she stood up. As he sprawled on the floor, she kicked out at him. "Get up you dim fucker," she snarled, pulling him to his feet.

As he struggled to his feet he realised that the woman that had rendered him helpless with such ease was a good six inches shorter than himself. Slim and slightly built in a tight fitting black sweater and combat trousers, she moved with a fluid ease that told James he had no chance of breaking free of her grasp. She forced him from the bedroom and pushed him, still barefoot and without trousers, towards the door of his apartment. "Let's take a trip," she said as she peered out of the front door, checking that there was no one in the corridor outside.

The woman took him, struggling against her grip, along the corridor, down the back stairs and out of the building. The derelict plot at the back of the building was empty as it always was after dark except that backed up by the door was a small van, its back doors open. The woman pushed James inside, followed him in, closed the doors and called, "Time to go!" over her shoulder.

The van started to bounce across the waste ground towards the road but James wasn't going to get to watch the scenery. The woman reached down beside him, took a hessian sack and pulled it over his head. As he grunted in protest, she wrapped tape around his chest to keep the sack in place and then taped his ankles. She pushed him down flat on the floor of the van. "Stay down there, we've got a way to go."

Justice Lady Catherine Stearns sat patiently listening to the evidence being presented before the court. As usual the Police seemed to have built a convincing case. Detective Sergeant Haste had been a particularly good witness. She and the others from her station had obviously done a thorough job. Stearns wondered if there would be any end to these subversives. They didn't seem to be deterred by the sentences and their plots seemed to get more devious by the month.

Counsel for the Prosecution was starting her summing up. She was obviously confident. The evidence was solid, the witnesses sound. Stearns looked across to the dock where the four defendants sat. From their faces she knew that they had no illusions about avoiding conviction but, thought Catherine, they deserved a fair trial. Counsel for the Defence barely managed to suggest that they might not have been responsible for the plot from the evidence that she had been able to present. She hadn't been able to cross examine the members of the security services, of course and it was difficult to question the accuracy of the telephone intercept transcripts without access to the ways in which they were obtained. She had done what she could, though, thought Catherine. The men should feel that they'd been treated reasonably although, of course, subversives never did. Counsel for the Defence sat down. Justice Stearns turned to the twelve women of the jury and asked them to consider their verdict. They didn't bother to retire for long. They were back in court again ten minutes later. The forewoman stood, ready to deliver their view of the charges. Catherine thought they would have taken a little longer but, after all, it was almost happy hour and there were plenty of bars in the Strand where they would be hoping to relax after their judicial efforts.

"Guilty as charged," the forewoman said.

Catherine Stearns turned to the defendants in the dock. She didn't really have much discretion at this point in proceedings, the sentence for subversion was mandatory even if the other offences didn't demand a custodial sentence. "The four of you have been found guilty of acts that threaten the stability of our society and the elected administration. On the charges of conspiracy you are each sentenced to three years; for concealment of identity, eighteen months and on the charge of subversion as part of a proscribed organisation fifteen years corrective detention without the benefit of consideration for parole. Sentences will run consecutively. I will make a recommendation to the prison authorities that in view of the nature of these offences the defendants should be retained in a high security environment without the benefit of visitors or communications with the outside world. I hope," Justice Stearns said, turning to the public gallery where a few members of the press were sitting, "that these sentences will be seen by any that might consider engaging in such acts, that our society will not tolerate those that wish to disrupt our society." She turned to the court bailiffs. "Take them down." she said. The men were lead away without a word of protest, they had expected no better. Haste watched them go. This would count to her targets this month. The Inspector Of Judiciary would be pleased. She looked around. "Court is dismissed."

"All rise," the court's usher called and Catherine Stearns left the court, heading for her chambers.

She sank down into a large armchair. These cases were always difficult, she thought. Even though the evidence was usually straightforward there was always the risk that the prosecution would slip up and miss something. She tossed her judges wig onto the desk and range for her chamber boy who appeared, scuttling in with her anticipated scotch on a tray and a collection files under his arm. "Tomorrow's case files, your honour," he announced putting the drink down with one hand while he juggled the files with the other."